Sidhe II - Champions of The Sid - Kenneth C. Flint

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE
A Bantam Book I December 1984
AH rights reserved.
Copyright © 1984 by Kenneth C. Flint-Cover art copyright © 1984 by Don

Maitz.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or

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Books, Inc.
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BOOK I
BRES RETURNS
REBELLION
THE TOWER OF Glass thrust up from the sea like a blade of ice, chill and
deadly.
The planes of its four sides were formed of glass panels, level upon level,
joined by a web of lines so fine that at a distance each wall became a single
sheet of shining material. Like enormous mirrors they reflected the ocean
and the sky about with a cold, detached precision. In the slanting rays of the
dawn sun, the eastern face was a painful glare of blue-white diamond light.
It made the Tower seem all the more starkly alien, alone in that soft,
sunflecked expanse of level sea.
The soaring structure was set firmly in a base of smooth grey stone. And
this foundation was itself imbedded deeply in an island of jagged rock
barely larger than the Tower itself
The base, like the glass walls above, was devoid of openings, save at one
point. On the southern side, a knobby elbow of the island thrust into the sea,
forming a sizeable cove. Here, massive quays of the same smooth stone
stretched far out into the waters of the cove. And here, in a line along the
foundation wall, a dozen immense, square openings with heavy doors of a
dull grey metal gave access to the Tower's interior.
At the quays, a score of slender ships of a curiously smooth black metal

were tied. Men in close-fitting uniforms of silver-grey worked busily upon
one of them, preparing it for sea and for the arrival of a special passenger.
A flat, hollow tone, like the repeated note on some great horn, began to
sound echoingly across the quays. It brought the attention of the working
men to the base of the Tower. There, with a piercing, metallic squeal, one of
the metal doors began to lift.
It rose slowly, as if with an effort, accompanied by a tremendous clattering.
Beyond the growing opening only the blackness of the Towers interior was
revealed.
When the door had risen haliway, it clanged abruptly to a stop. From the
darkness appeared a double column of men, clad in similar grey uniforms,
but wearing helmets—smooth, rounded skullcaps of bright silver—and
carrying strange devices, like thick spears of metal tipped with balls of
silver instead of points.
Twenty soldiers emerged from the Tower, moving in a brisk, high-stepping

march. As the last moved onto the quay, they halted and the two lines
executed sharp turns to face one another. They stood straight and exactly
dressed and motionless, like chiseled granite figures lining some temple
corridor.
The men on the ship had now ceased their work to watch with open
curiosity the figure who walked from the shadowed depths of the Tower and
down the aisle of soldiers.
He was, indeed, a figure worthy of note. His appearance was in sharp

contrast with the men he strode arrogantly between. His dress was colorful,
barbaric in this stark setting. A blood-red cloak was slung across his
shoulders, fastened at his throat with an elaborate brooch of gold. Beneath it
was visible a tunic of bright green richly embroidered in gold thread. A
heavy belt at his waist supported a silver-fitted scabbard and a long-sword
whose wide hilt was set with glinting jewels.
The garb was a complement to the striking nature of the man himself. Tall
and wide of body, he was well muscled with no signs of extra weight. He
carried himself with the unconscious easy grace of a warrior in full fighting
trim.
His hair was dark and very coarse, rolling back from his forehead in thick
waves. His features were handsome but broad and crudely chiseled. The
dark eyes were set deeply behind heavy brows and took in the preparations
at the ship with sharp interest.
He strode down purposefully to the ship and stopped by its gangway. A

uniformed man directing the work there moved to greet him. Several black
bands encircling his lower sleeve were all that announced he ranked far
above the rest.
"We sail in a few moments, High-King Bres," he announced to the brightly

dressed arrival. "The tide is nearly at its peak." "Very well, Captain," said
the other in a voice edged with irritation. "I'll go aboard."
He went up the gangway but paused to look up toward the top of the Tower
that loomed so far above him. Theret a wider band of glass marked the
structure's highest level. As distant as it was, he was certain that he could
detect the dark shape of the
BRES RETURNS
one who watched. He was even certain that he could feel the heat of that
damned eye.
He was right. From far above, an eye was trained upon him. The crimson
blaze of the single, fiery pupil was shuttered by its metal lid to a mere
thread of ruby light as it stared down at the ship below, and at the tiny
figure climbing into it.
The face in which the eye was set was really no face at all. It was a rounded
surface of burnished black, featureless except for the heavy lid that hung
before the eye like a visor on a helmet. The head itself was no more than a
barrel of metal, fixed to a short, thick neck that rose from massive, squared
shoulders.
The whole being was enormous, three times the height and girth of a
normal man, all armored in the same smooth metal, fully jointed in the arms
and legs, with hands like metal gauntlets. Standing there at the window,
motionless, it might have been a lifeless object, like the ships below, save
for the power of that eye.
And then a voice addressed it.
"Do you believe Bres can succeed in Eire alone, Commander Balor?" it
asked, its tone hesitant.
There was no immediate response. Then, with an agonizing slowness and a

faint, grating sound of metal on metal, the vast head began to move. It
pivoted around on the neck, bringing the crimson eye from the window to
those in the room.
The room was vast, befitting its main occupant. Three stories high, its outer
wall was all glass, giving a view of the sea around the Tower to the distant
horizon. Against the bright background of the dawn sky, the giant figure
seemed all the more dark, all the more ominous to the three men who stood
before it.
The narrow beam of light from the single eye played over them. All wore
the grey uniform. The many bands on the sleeves of each spoke of their
exalted rank. The eye shifted from one to another, finally fixing on the
center one.
From the figure a voice sounded, a deep and hollow and clanging sound,
like a great gong echoing from the depths of some cavern of iron.
"It is necessary for him to succeed, Sital Salmhor. If he is unable to

organize our occupying forces in Eire and crush this foolish uprising soon,
it may spread to all the de Danann settlements."

Sital Salmhor stared up at the figure. As often before, he wondered if there
was a living being there, behind that armored front. He steeled himself for
another question.
"But shouldn't we send some support to him? Send some forces from the
Tower?
That would insure a victory."
"No!" the being thundered. "No forces from this Tower will be involved.
Bres has the power to crush them if he acts quickly. And, remember, it is his
own kingship over Eire that j he must regain."
The offending officer held himself rigidly under the heat of the flaming eye.
But the torture was short. The giant head turned slowly back toward the
windows, the gaze of the eye shifting down toward the ship again.
It had put to sea by now and was gliding out past the sheltering peninsula. It
moved along quite steadily, although no sail was up. But as it left the cove
and the winds caught it, a field of brilliant white blossomed around its mast
and it picked up speed quickly, soaring away with the grace of a great bird.
Until the ship faded into the haze of the southern horizon, the crimson eye
stayed fixed upon its course.
The woman was thrown from the doorway of the house and staggered,
falling heavily onto her knees in the muddy courtyard of the ringfort. A roar
of coarse laughter went up from the circle of monstrous beings who
watched.
They were vaguely like men, with men's shape and stature, but they were
disfigured in ways so horrible that they seemed more like insane parodies of
men.
No two of them were deformed alike. In many the limbs were twisted,
distorted to resemble the claws of birds, the paws of beasts, even the fins
offish. In some the limbs were missing altogether, replaced by crude
appendages of metal and
wood.
More grotesque were the faces that were, indeed, a mockery of anything
human, And here, again, many of the deformities looked like the product of
some obscene coupling of men and
animals.
All were dressed as warriors, in ragged tunics and cloaks, and heavily
armed with spears, swords, and leather shields.
The frightened woman looked up at them in horror as she pulled herself

from the mud and stumbled away to join a huddled group of others penned
against the earthen wall of the ringfort by the menacing band.
BRES RETURNS
From within the round, wattle-sided house, a figure emerged. His head
appeared to have been split from the top of the skull to the bridge of the
nose by some massive wound that had healed to leave a deep trench ridged
by thick scar tissue on either side. On both sides of the gap, the ba)d skull
bulged up as if two heads had tried to form. Goggling eyes were set far out
atop each bulging cheek like those of a frog. The mouth was tiny, shaped in
a high bow, with a deep cleft that ran up into the wide, single nostril of the
flat nose.
With obvious enjoyment he watched the frightened woman stumble away.

He strode out into the center of the compound and looked around him at the
ringfort's interior.
It was a small enclosure. The wrapping earthen bank with its crowning ring
of upright stakes embraced only four of the round, thatched homes. It was
clearly a very poor settlement, and its two-score inhabitants were near
starvation.
The warrior looked them over appraisingly. There were a few scrawny men,
some worn and haggard women, and a few wretched brats with swollen
bellies who peeped out fearfully from the shelter of their mothers' bodies.
"Phaw!" he exclaimed disgustedly. "What a sorry catch we've got here. No

food among 'em. No shiny little bits for us. And none of these women are
worth our time. Seems a waste of effort even to kill them."
"There's no need to kill us," one of the captive men said pleadingly, moving
forward from the group. He was a tall man with a lean face that had once
been handsome. But years of hardship had ravaged him, and years of
oppression had left him without pride. He begged for the salvation of his
people. "Please, My Chieftain! We've never caused the Fomor any trouble.
We've always paid our tribute to you."
"And I suppose you're not fallin' in with those rebels at Tara?" the Fomor
leader said, smiling skeptically.
"Rebels?" the man repeated blankly. "No. We know nothing about a

rebellion.
Please, believe me!"
"Captain!" called a dog-faced warrior, coming out of one of the huts. He

held up a battered sword in a thick paw. "Look here! We found these in a
souterrain under this house!"
"A hidden escape tunnel?" the captain said, and turned a baleful look upon
the hapless man. "And weapons?"
"They're for our defense from animals," the man tried desperately to
explain.
"We have to have something. The bears—" "Bears!" the captain spat out
contemptuously. He took a
8
swift step forward and swung out with a sudden blow of his fist that caught
the man on the side of his head, dropping him heavily to the muddy earth.
"The bears will be eatin' of all your bony carcasses this day," the captain
promised. He drew a heavy longsword from its sheath and lifted it to strike.
From the huddled group a wail of terror went up. A young boy pushed
forward. A woman tried to stop him but he tore away and flew upon the
warrior, grabbing his sword arm to drag it down.
Angrily the captain shook the attacker off and the boy was flung down into
the mud beside the man.
"Filthy whelp!" the captain grated and lifted the sword again. "Now you'll
be first!"
"I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd not do that," said a voice behind him.
II
THE CHAMPIONS
SURPRISED BY IT, the captain whirled about. Just inside the gateway
through the outer wall a new figure now stood.
In dress, he seemed a warrior. He wore a simple tunic of white with a cloak

of brilliant green. At his hip was sheathed a sword whose hilts were richly
worked in gold and set with glinting stones. Still, in looks he seemed more
of a boy. His body, while tall and well muscled, had the slenderness and
suppleness of youth. The face was boyish, too, lean and boldly featured in
chin and nose, with clear blue eyes sparkling behind high arching brows of
pale gold. His fair hair swept back in thick casual waves.
He was altogether a fine and pleasant-looking young man, and he smiled on

the monstrous clan before him in a most innocent and engaging way.
"Just who are you?" the captain demanded harshly, eyeing the newcomer
suspiciously.
BRES RETURNS
"My name is Lugh Lamfada," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice.
"Lugh Lamfada?" the Fomor officer repeated with some surprise. "The one
that they call Champion of the Sidhe? But, you are just a boy!"
"That may be," the other said lightly. "Still I am here to give help to these
people."
"You're going to help them?" the captain asked, smiling. He seemed vastly
amused at the idea.
"I want you to take your warriors away from here and leave these people
alone," the young warrior went on. "I'm asking you in a friendly way now,
for I've no wish to see you come to harm, unless you allow me no other
choice."
Now the captain laughed outright, joined by the others in a harsh chorus of
derisive laughter.
'And are you challenging us, boy?" he asked, stepping toward Lugh. "You,
alone?"
"I didn't say that I was alone."
"No, he surely didn't say that!" another voice sang out brightly.
The Fomor turned again to face this new voice. It came from a very strange
individual now perched precariously atop the logs of the ringfort's palisade.
He was a loose-jointed and gangly sort of fellow dressed in the baggy,

striped clothes of a clown. A tattered and filthy brown cloak was draped in
heavy folds about him and battered leather shoes flapped on his enormous
feet. He had a tangled mass of straggling yellow hair and beard that couldn't
mask a sharp jut of nose and a wide, idiotic grin. He was casually juggling
three small apples and swinging back and forth on the posts. His
movements were so awkward that it seemed certain he would topple from
his seat at any moment.
"Gilla Decaire is my name," he said in a breezy way. "And I'm pleased to

meet you all, so I am. Even for so short a time of livin' as you're likely to
have." He nodded toward the opposite side of the fort. "Now, would you be
wantin' to meet another friend?"
From across the courtyard there came a splintering crash. Once more the
Fomor were forced to wheel about. Directly opposite the clown, three of the
logs that formed the palisade had suddenly shivered and then toppled back,
sheared off at
10
their base. Through the created opening stepped another man, the wide
space barely adequate to allow passage of his body. For he was a gigantic
being, tall as well as broad. With a great barrel chest and thick, sinewy arms
and legs, he was like an ancient tree that has survived centuries of storm to
become the stronger, if more battered and gnarled. His round, weathered
face was cheery, red-cheeked, his eyes aglow with pleasure, his wide mouth
smiling.
In broad hands he hefted the immense, gleaming battle-ax with which he

had severed the three logs in a single blow.
"It is the Dagda!" cried one of the Fomor warriors. "My Captain, he is one
of the de Danann's greatest champions!"
The others of the band seemed equally impressed, but their officer
examined the newest arrival skeptically.
"So, this is the famous Dagda!" he said. "He's much older, and much fatter,
than I expected." He looked from the champion to the other challengers,
now forming a triangle about his men. "And is that all of you? Just you
three?"
A Fomor warrior in the group behind the captain raised his spear suddenly
to make a cast at Lugh. But from the sky swooped a large black form.
It drove straight into the face of the man with a harsh cry and a flutter of
broad wings. The amazed Fomor saw it was a raven, larger than a hawk. It
tore savagely at the warrior, great talons gripping his hands while a
gleaming, sharp beak jabbed at his face. Helpless to fight it off, he flailed
wildly, then dropped his spear and staggered back. The bird pulled away
and left him to retreat, hands pressed to a face streaming with blood. It
glided to the back of the courtyard, opposite Lugh, and settled lightly to the
ground.
As the raven touched the earth, a strange glow arose from it, as if the sleek
blue-black feathers had turned suddenly to silver flame. The glow grew
quickly, swallowing up the form, then rose in a column taller than a man. It
flared, then faded away, shrinking back to reveal a new form now, a tall and
slender form wrapped in a clinging cloak of deepest black.
The face of a woman showed above the cloak, high-browed, hollow-

cheeked, and pointed-chinned. Black hair was pulled back and tightly
braided at the nape of the neck, giving the head an even harsher look, like
the raven's skull. Dark eyes glinted like polished biack stones from deep
behind the brows, fixing on the Fomor with the hungry look a raptor has for
its helpless prey. The thin mouth smiled, and the fine, sharp
BRES RETURNS
11
teeth parted as if ready for the taste of a victims flesh. The arms unfolded,
lifting from a gaunt, almost skeletal frame. The limbs revealed by the
warrior's tunic that she wore were lank and wiry, like knotted cord. At each
bony hip hung a sheathed longsword.
"Our number is four," the one called Lugh quietly announced.
"It is the Morrigan!" another of the Fomor gasped, voice touched with awe.
The name and carnivorous reputation of this de Dannan warrior was well
known to them. She was one of the few for whom the cruel beings had any
fear. The Fomor officer was stili quite unimpressed. "The Morrigan too," he
said carelessly.
He looked back toward Lugh. "So, is that it, then? Or are some more of
your little band going to be leaping at us from somewhere?" The young
warrior shook his head. "No more." "Too bad," the captain said with mock
regret. Then the tiny mouth turned upward in a cruel smile. "But it's
enough. We'll earn a fine reward for killing such a group of rebel
champions." "Leave this place now,"
Lugh told him. He drew his sword in a swift, single move. The blade
glowed brightly and an aura of power from it seemed to envelop the young
warrior. The boyish manner fell away and his voice turned deadly cold.
"This weapon is called the Answerer. Leave here or, from now on, it will do
my speaking for me."
The captain looked from the bright weapon to the suddenly determined
face. He hesitated, feeling a faint, chill ripple of fear wash through him.
But he shook it off Years of casual brutality had taught him that these weak
and cowardly de Dananns had no chance of standing up against the Fomor
power.
He laughed again.
"Boy," he said in a blustering voice, "in a moment your sword will be

hanging at my side!" He turned and shouted the order to his men. "AH
right, attack them now!"
Lugh and his companions made no move to meet the attack.
This forced the Fomor to divide and charge four different ways.
The captain, easily the most skilled fighter of the group, drove forward to
engage Lugh himself. He struck with his full power, expecting to finish the
overconfident youth quickly. He was astonished to find his opponent
swinging his own weapon in a lightning move that parried the sword thrust
easily. He redoubled his effort, realizing he faced a trained adversary.
Gilla the Clown downed one of his own charging Fomor with 12
BRES RETURNS
13
the throw of an apple, driving the hard sphere into his victims eye. He then
dropped from the wall to the yard with an agility surprising to the Fomor,
landing in a fighting position, sword in hand, to face three more attackers.
The giant Dagda waded into the five men who swarmed upon him. The
great ax flew about him like a scythe cutting through a field of grain,
slashing through the Fomor with a force they could do nothing to defend
themselves against. Not far away the raven-woman shrieked her harsh battle
cry and flew against three more with both swords. Her flashing weapons
were like tearing claws, and it seemed to them that a flock of blood-hungry
crows were upon them.
The battle was brief and bloody. The inhabitants of the ring-fort watched
the fighting with growing amazement and jubila- ^ tion as the four wreaked
devastation on the Fomor band.
Finally, Lugh pressed the captain back across the compound, teasing him
now, nicking him here and there to drive ; him like a stubborn bull. The
maddened officer made a desper- ; ate thrust. He found his weapon knocked
from his hand and a bright, sharp blade pressed to his throat.
Lugh smiled and poked out with his sword. The captain tumbled backward
into some of the deepest mud in the yard. Now the Fomor's recent captives
laughed.
>
"Now, Captain," Lugh said, "look around at your warriors."
He did. There were only three left alive, and two of them were wounded.
The rest were sprawled lifeless in the mud.
"Tell them to surrender. Quickly!" the young warrior demanded. There was
no compromise in his voice now. Only deadly earnestness. The captain
obeyed.
The Fomor warriors were quickly disarmed and directed out of the gateway.
Then Lugh turned back to the fallen officer. -
"Now you, Captain. Crawl out of here like the vermin that you are. Go and
tell your fellows that if any of you come near this fort or any of the Tuatha
de Dananns again, you will surely i die!"
The captain began to crawl. Lugh gave him a slap across the rump with the
flat of his sword to urge him along. The terrified Fomor slithered through
the muddy yard with astonishing speed and disappeared out the gateway.
Lugh walked to the de Danann man and boy who had watched the battle
from their own seats in the mud, afraid to move. He sheathed his sword and
hefd out a hand to each.
"And you, get up from that mud," he told them forcefully.?
"Stand up like men." Each took a hand and he pulled them erect. "It's time
the de Danann people did that again."
The man stared at the young warrior before him, and then around at the rest
of their saviors, still somewhat dumbfounded at the suddenness of their
rescue.
"By all the Powers, you have saved us," he said weakly, as if he had just
accepted the truth of it. "But how did you come here?"
"We've been traveling the countryside, trying to tell every settlement of the
rising against the Fomor," Lugh said.
"Then there has been a rising?" the man asked. "That captain spoke of it."
"There has, that's certain," the Dagda assured him, moving up beside Lugh.
"We seized Tara only days ago, drove out the Fomor garrison and deposed
Bres."
"The High-King?" The man gasped in shock.
"Yes, but let's not speak of it right now," said Lugh. He had been examining
the ringforts inhabitants. "Your people look badly used and nearly starved.
See to them and get them some food. Then we can talk."
"We've no food left," the man told him sorrowfully. "We were poor enough
to start, and these Fomor raiding parties have taken what we had these past
few days, That's why this last band was so cruel."
Cilia Decaire crossed the yard to them.
"I think we can take care of that ourselves, so I do!" he said cheerfully. He
reached into the voluminous cloak and yanked out a tremendous leg of
mutton.
This he tossed lightly to the man who gaped in wonder. "Here. This'll start
things niceiy. And, here!" He reached in again, this time hauling forth a skin
bulging with liquid and a fat, round loaf of bread. "Some nice ale here," he
announced, passing it over to the man and tossing the bread to the boy.
The youngster stared wide-eyed at the loaf that filled his arms, then in awe
at the marvelous cloak.
"Lost a whole lamb inside there once," the clown told him with a broad
wink.
I believe you," the boy said with great seriousness.

Five, six, seven, eight apples spun in a circle, flying at a dizzying speed
high above Giila's head as he juggled for an enthralled audience of children.
The clown was willingly entertaining them, bringing smiles 14
to faces so long marked by fear and pinched by hunger. So eager for his
diverting tricks were they that, even though they were nearly starved, the
food lay forgotten on their plates as they watched and laughed.
Cilia ended his performance at last by throwing the apples, one by one, to
each child.
"Enough for now," he said. He held up his hands at their disappointed cries,
promising, "I'll do more later, but only if you eat up all of that food!"
They fell to the task with a will, and he moved away from them, toward the
rest of the company.
The children were grouped at one side of the circular room. The adults sat
at low tables set around a central hearth. This was the largest of the
ringfort's houses, the one used as a meeting hall for the inhabitants. It was a
barren place, stripped of all the fine de Danann ornamentation. A tiny fire
was the only spot of cheer.
As Gilla joined them, the Dagda was just concluding his account of the
recent uprising at Tara. His booming voice and colorful speech made it a
most gripping tale.
"And the people of Tara joined together to defeat the Fomor garrison," he
was saying. "Under Nuada they are now organizing an army at Tara to
challenge the rest of the Fomor in Eire and drive them all out."
"So Nuada has become our High-King once again," said the leader. "I
cannot believe that Bres has finally been deposed."
"It was Lugh here who discovered that Bres was in league with the Fomor
to destroy us, that he was half-Fomor himself!" the Dagda said proudly,
clapping a massive hand to Lughs shoulder. "Why, it was even his work that
saw Nuada restored." He leaned across the table toward the other man to
add emphatically: "I tell you, Febal, he is truly the one that the Prophecy
said would come one day to lead us to freedom from the Fomor."
"I believe what you say," said Febal, eyeing Lugh with great interest. "I felt
the power of a great champion in him when he appeared in our fort."
The modest young warrior tried not to look as abashed as he felt in this
praising.
"Then you'll join us?" urged the Dagda. "We must gather every de Danann
who can fight."
The man shook his head doubtfully. "My friend, I don't know. We are not
warriors. We never have been. We came to
BRES RETURNS
15
Eire to live in peace, to farm and herd and feel a oneness with a land of our
own. We cannot fight."
"It's because you will not fight that this land is not your own," Lugh put in.
The young man's voice was quiet, but urgent and truthful and carrying a
force within it that claimed the attention of all present. "You will never have
anything that is truly yours until you choose to earn it."
"Perhaps," Febal agreed. "But perhaps Bobd Derg is right."
"My son?" bellowed the Dagda angrily. "You'd listen to the whining of that
coward and leave Eire?"
The leader looked over to the children. "At least our families were safe in
Tir-na-nog. It was a place of peace and happiness."
"Listen to me, Febal," said Lugh. "If you return to the Four Cities, you will
become as you were, children of Queen Danu's people, never a people of
your own."
"Once, long ago, we called ourselves the sons of Nemed," the Dagda put in
strongly. "Too many of us have forgotten that. But we were a proud race
who gave in to no one, who battled any power for our place. That was what
we were, Febal. Don't you remember?"
He did remember. All those years before when the young, hopeful band of
adventurers had come to Eire, seeking their own land. Then they had met
the Fomor, a race of raiders who meant to make these newcomers their
slaves. They had fought, but the Fomor had nearly destroyed them. The
battered remnants of their once-strong clans had sailed into the unknown
Western Sea. There, lost and nearly dead, the survivors had been found by
the people of Queen Danu.
The Sons of Nemed had been taken to Tir-na-nog, a peaceful and mystical
land where four shining cities held marvels the outsiders couldn't
comprehend. Danu had befriended them, given them homes, put her own
teachers and druids and artisans to helping them learn and regain their
strength.
In gratitude, the clans of Nemed had taken on a new name, Tuatha de

Danann, the Children of Danu. But the time had come when their leaders
decided that they must return to Eire. Danu's land and people were not their
own. They were of another, harsher world, and they must return to it and
prove themselves.
But, instead of doing that, their traitorous High-King Bres had used his
power and their old fears to lead them into the Fomor control.
"Maybe its not a warrior you are," the Dagda went on, "but BRES
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17
16
you've always believed in our coming to Eire to win our own life here. And
you've always been willing to fight for that when it was needed."
"Yes, I've fought," the other agreed wearily. "I've seen ourj people nearly
destroyed by the forces of the Tower of Glass. I've seen them die battling
the Firbolgs, hurt and degraded by] the Fomor animals. I've lost my
children and friends and* homes and all hope. Is this rocky, savage isle
worth all of that?
Isn't reason saying to us that we should give it up?"
"It's not reason we're speaking of," the Dagda said. "It's something in the
heart, in the life force, that makes us what we are. You may as well ask a
baby to stay protected in its womb instead of coming into the world to live,
with all its dangers, with death surely waiting. That force drove our people
to come to Eire. It's a fiercely protected part of us. The fear of losing it
made us leave Tir-na-nog and come back here."
He moved closer to his old comrade, his voice filled with intensity, his
rugged face alight with battle-fire. "You have to see our people at Tara,
Febal. The rising has brought them alive again. They've a will they've not
had in many years. Join them. Don't let it be lost again."
"Even if it means death?" Febal asked.
"Only our spirit made something of us," the Dagda said. "The Fomor took
our spirit, took what we are. We have to get it back or we have nothing at
all.
He stood up, a massive figure, to address them all.
"I say that we must never again allow the Fomor to rule us through fear. I
say that Eire is ours and we cannot let them drive us from it! What do you
say?"
Feba! looked around at his gathered people. In their drawn and weary faces
he saw a new determination, the rebirth of a glow of pride that had been
extinguished for so long. They looked at one another and al! understood. A
silent agreement was passed.
"All right," Febal said to the champions with greater heart. "We will go to
Tara, all that can. We'll join your rising."
"But what about the Fomor?" asked one of the others. "Won't they act to
stop this rebellion?"
"We don't know," Lugh admitted. "To be truthful, we've no idea what the
Fomor are planning to do. We've met no kind of organized resistance. We
haven't even seen any Fomor parties in our traveling, except those who
came here."
"We've seen more than our share," Febal's wife put
"Herds of the filthy beasts have been passing through for days now.
"Oh? And were all of them going the same way?"
This came from the Morrigan. She had just entered the room. She wiped a
crimson smear from her mouth with the edge of her cloak- Lugh, realizing
what she had been about outside, repressed a shudder. He couldn't get used
to the raven-woman's grotesque habit of staking her insatiable thirst with
the warm blood of her victims, even if they were the beastly Fornor.
"They did all go the same way, I think," said Febal. "Didn't they?" He
looked to his people for confirmation.
"Aye, they did," said another. "And all in a great hurry."
Morrigan stepped toward him, her dark eyes glittering, her dry, crackling
voice sharp with interest.
"And just which way was it?"
"North and east," he told her. "Toward the sea."

Ill
THE DISCOVERY
"JUST A BIT higher now," the Dagda promised with a grunt of effort as he
hauled his bulk up the rocky slope.
Behind him Giila and Lugh scrambled along, their more agile forms still no
match for the amazing litheness of the huge man. Panting and hanging on a
rock for a brief rest, Gilla looked up enviously at the black bird that soared
high above.
"I'd give a pretty to be havin' her powers, so I would," he said sincerely.
"Never mind," said the young warrior, grinning. "The sea lies just beyond
this hili, I think. It must be where Morrigan's been leading us."
"I wish she'd remember that 'as the raven flies' is only the easiest route for a
raven," the Dagda growled. "I feel as if we've climbed every hill in Eire.
She likely did it on purpose, knowing her twisted mind."
But the crown of the ragged hill was just ahead, and beyond 18
it the sea did come into view, a fine, wide cove with a beach of yellow sand
stretching around its curve.
The three climbed higher and were able to look down the steep slope to the
section of beach just below. What they saw made them jump hurriedly back
into some sheltering rocks. :
The flat ground along the waters edge was swarming with Fomor!
They had encampments scattered far along the shore with crude shelters
built and scores of fires burning. The smell of cooking food drifted up to the
watchers.
"There must be nearly a thousand men there!" said the Dagda. "It looks like
half the garrison forces in Eire are gathered."
"They must be planning to attack us," Lugh said. "But why | are they
gathering here? And what are they waiting for? There |j are more than
enough here to challenge our forces at Tara."
"What's Morrigan about?" Gilla wondered, pointing.
The figure of the raven had soared out far beyond the Fomor, high above
the sea and away until she had shrunk to a black fleck against the grey of an
overcast sky. But, as they watched, she began to grow again as she returned,
sweeping in from the sea with speed, soaring up over them and then
fluttering down to alight on a boulder nearby.
She folded her great wings and then began to caw and rattle noisily. The
Dagda listened carefully, then nodded.
"We may soon find out what this lot is waiting for," he told his companions.
"She says there's a ship coming in now."
Gilla looked at the huge warrior skeptically. "You understood her?"
"Certainly I did," the Dagda answered indignantly. "We were married once,
you'll recall. She taught me the speech. Made things much easier too."
"I can imagine that it would," said Gilla thoughtfully. "Or, maybe I can't."
He flashed a broad grin. "You'll have to tell me more about your marriage
sometime. It must have been quite an interesting match, so it must."
"Never mind that," the Dagda said tersely, clearly not amused. "Look.
There's the ship."
They could just see the flashing speck that had appeared on the edge of the
grey, rough sea. They watched it draw near, slowly revealing itself as a
large, lean vessel of smooth black.-Lugh and Gilla exchanged a meaningful
glance. Both had s< such a ship before.
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19
"It's come from the Tower of Glass," said Lugh.
"I've seen their like, long ago," the Dagda said, his voice darkened by a
grim memory. "I told you of it, lad. When we went against the Tower those
many years ago and were destroyed by the powers there. It was a fleet of
such ships that came against us then."
The Morrigan crackled stridently.
"Aye," he said. "I know you were there too. And I'm certain you recall as
well as I."
"But why is it here?" asked Lugh. He looked at Gilla. "Do you think it
means that the forces of the Tower will join the Fomor?"
Gilla shook his head. "No. We heard that bloody iron monster himself
declare that the island Fomor would have to hold Eire alone. I can't imagine
Balor changin' his mind and riskin' the lives of any of his pure Tower
people just to aid these poor, blighted brothers they've so kindly exiled to
this place."
"Balor," Lugh said coldly, recalling the terrible one-eyed being. "If he
comes, we are doomed. I watched the power of that red eye blast apart the
fortress where I grew up. We could never face that."
The ship came smoothly in, its sail down, but still cutting swiftly through
the waves, driving unwaveringly toward the shore, defying wind and sea
with its unknown power. A large party of Fomor officers gathered from the
massed forces and moved toward the water to meet it.
The ship eased up through the shallows and grounded. A gangway was run
out from the side to rest on the shore. A man appeared at its head and strode
haughtily down to be greeted by the officers. On the hillside above, the little
band of watchers looked on with growing understanding.
"Not Balor," Gilla remarked, "but a monster nearly as bad."
"I'd hoped that he was dead!" the Dagda growled.
But he was not. Bres, once High-King to the Tuatha de Danann, had
returned to Eire.
The hilltop fortress called Tara of the Kings was alive with activity.
After years of decay and apathy, it and the town below it had reawakened,
preparing desperately for the coming struggle to bold on to the new
freedom.
Within the enormous circling palisade of logs that crowned rounded hill,
manv scores of warriors trained for battle.
20
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21
The very few who had been able to keep up their warriors skills through the
long period of Fomor oppression were laboring to restore the ability and
strength and confidence of the rest.
It was difficult work. Most had been so long undernourished and brutalized
that the will to fight was very weak. But the inspiration and courage of one
man who moved through them, constantly encouraging, was helping to
bring new spirit to them.
His name was Nuada, the High-King. He was an aging man, his long mane
of hair frosted heavily with grey, his face seamed by years of wear But his
powerful figure showed few signs of age, and his proud bearing gave him
an aura of energetic youth. Beside him strode Angus Og, another son of the
Dagda, a cheerful and vigorous young man who was helping to supervise
the training.
One side of the great inner courtyard was given over to a line of men who
practiced casting spears at man-sized targets carved of wood. Nuada
stopped to watch and shook his head with doubt. After days of work, the
targets were still distressingly free of spears that had hit their mark, Across
the court, other men were training with swords and shields. Most were
clumsy and unsure, and doing themselves almost as much harm with the
heavy weapons as they were their practice opponents.
Nuada watched this for a while, too, and then Angus heard him sigh
heavily.
But the High-King did not express his misgivings aloud. He only offered
some ringing words of encouragement before passing on.
By the stables at the back of the courtyard, a large smithy had been set up
beneath open sheds. Here a group of figures, black and streaming with
sweat, labored over forges and anvils to shape weapons for the resurrected
army of their comrades. At one of the forges, Goibnu, the master smith of
the de Dananns, turned out the bright, slender, and lethal spearheads for
which he was renowned with a speed and workmanship that seemed
miraculous. Beside him worked a woman whose efforts matched his own.
Her looks were as remarkable as her skill, for her face was divided, one side
that of a beautiful woman, the other that of a withered hag.
When he saw Nuada and Angus approaching, Goibnu stopped to point

proudly at the great pile of glinting spearheads beside them.
"We'll have all the weapons any army could need," he announced. "Bridget
has learned the craft well."
"All we've need of now is hands that can use them with the same amount of
skill that created them," said Nuada. Again Angus was aware of that
doubting quality, not fully disguised by the High-King's attempt at
heartiness.
"My King!" a voice called from above them.

Nuada and the others looked up toward the sentrywalk of the outer wall. A
guard was hailing the High-King.
"Warriors are coming up from the town!" he proclaimed. "It's the party of
Lugh Lamfada!"
"Are you certain?" Nuada called back.
"I couldn't be mistaking the figure of the Dagda," the guard replied with an
irreverent smile.
"I wonder why they've come back so soon," Nuada said, that troubled note
in his voice now clearly audible. He looked to Angus. "Come along. We'd
better go meet them."
Angus nodded assent and the two started off for the main gates of the
fortress. Those gates were open, as was usual during daylight, and the two
men reached them just as Lugh, Gilla, and the Dagda rode through into the
courtyard.
When Nuada saw them, his worry increased. They were worn by much hard
travel, sagging on the horses' backs. The animals themselves were thickly
caked with mud from fast travel on Eire's roads and plodded wearily, heads
lowered. Even the great, stocky mount of the Dagda was near exhaustion.
As the three pulled up, the familiar black form sailed lightly down to land
beside them and shimmer its way into Morrigan s shape. She was the only
one of the party who looked fresh.
As Lugh and his friends eased their aching bodies from their horses, Nuada
advanced toward them.
"What's happened?" he demanded. "Why have you come back so soon?"
"We've made a discovery," said Lugh. He and his comrades gave the horses
over to a steward's keeping and Lugh moved closer to the High-King. "Lets
move away a bit," he said in a confidential tone. "I don't think the others
should hear this quite yet."
They moved away from the training area, into an open spot beside a small
mound at one side of the yard.
"Tell me! What has happened?" Nuada asked urgently.
"We've discovered an army of Fomor gathering secretly," the 22
Dagda told his old friend bluntly. "Over a thousand warriors have joined it
and more companies are arriving every day."
"There's something else," said Lugh. "Bres is with them. He's clearly been
sent by those at the Tower of Class to lead them in crushing us."
"He has enough men to do that now," said Nuada, clearly alarmed by this
news.
"Why is he waiting?"
"He seems to be gathering all the Fomor in Eire," said Lugh. "We think he
plans to destroy the de Dananns totally."
"Then how much time have we before he is ready?" Nuada asked.
"There must be several thousand Fomor in Eire," the Dagda answered. "We
can only be guessing, but I'd say it will be at least ten days before he is
ready to march against us."
"Ten days!" repeated Nuada in a despairing way. "So little time!"
"We wouldn't have had that long if we hadn't discovered Bres's secret,"
Lugh reminded him. "Now we have a chance to organize a defense."
"Is that the truth?" Nuada replied, his voice sharply edged with irritation.
"And just what is it you're planning to make this defense with?"

Lugh was taken aback by this sudden hostility from the king. But Nuada
saw the surprise in his face and was at once regretful.
"I'm sorry, young Champion. I know the kind of hopeful fire that courses in
your veins. For you, anything is possible. But age is turning my blood cold.
It's harder to keep hope."
Lugh didn't understand. "But the de Dananns are gathering. You're forming
an army here—"
"No, Lugh," Nuada interrupted. "Our own forces are only trickling in to join
us from those few settlements close by. We haven't had time to reach the
others. Most of the de Dananns in Eire can't even know there's been a rising
here."
"He's right, Lugh," said Angus. 'And to give them time to come, to arm and
train them and make an army, they would have to host in a very few days.
We can't reach them so quickly."
"But some will come, and you have some companies here," Lugh said,
stoutly battling to counter their air of defeat.
"Look at them more closely," said Nuada, taking in the warriors in the yard
with a sweep of the arm. "We have perhaps
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23
five hundred who could fight. But look at their condition. Even with
weapons and training, they are far too weak. They've been starved and
beaten for too long. The rest of our people are surely the same." He shook
his head. His voice sounded weary. "Even if every de Danann were at Tara
now, armed and ready to fight, they wouldn't have the strength to withstand
the Fomor hordes."
Lugh realized how deeply this vision of defeat had plunged Nuada into
despair.
He recalled the condition the High-King had been in not many days before.
Then Bres had ruled and Nuada had watched helplessly as the tyrant
drained his people. His sense of failure had driven him into a drunken
apathy. The fear and uncertainty that had come upon the once assured
leader still threatened to grip him at times. They had to be controlled.
"Nuada, remember, when I first came to Tara, you were certain you could
never act again. But you have, and so have your people. You cannot show
any weakness or any doubt. You must keep the spirit and the others will too.
We'll find a way to defeat the Fomor. You must believe that."
Nuada looked closely at the intense young warrior, then he smiled.
"I do believe you. The force in you always brings new vitality to me. We
will find a way."
Lugh felt relief at having bolstered Nuada. He only wished he really knew
what way they would find.
"We will have to discuss plans for action with all the advisors," he
suggested. "Gather them, but do it without letting anyone know what's
happening. There's little point in bringing worry to the rest until we've some
idea what to do."
"True enough," agreed Nuada. "I'll have them gather in my quarters tonight,
after the others are asleep."
"That's settled then," Cilia announced with relief "Now maybe we'll have a
bit of time for some rest and food."
"There's food and drink laid out in the main hall," Angus said. "The Druids
are working there."
"Working?" asked Lugh.
"Old Findgoll's got them practicing their arts," Angus ex-plainted, laughing.
"He says they've gotten tarnished, like an unused blade."

"Do you know where Aine might be?" Lugh asked, trying to sound quite
casual.
24
Angus grinned more widely. "Ah, I wondered when you'd ask. She's in the
sunroom with Taillta, working on some fool project. They're not in a good
humor over it,"
"My idea, I'm afraid," Gilla admitted lightly. "I put them to it before we
left."
"Then you're the one they've been talking of torturing in so many

interesting ways," Angus said. "Best be armed when you see them."
"No one can be angry with playful old Gilla the Clown for long," he replied
in a breezy tone. "Come, friends. Let's find the victuals. My cloak's purely
deflated."
With that he set off jauntily, humming a light air.
"There goes a lunatic for certain," said Angus, staring after him.
"There's no man, lunatic or not, I'd more want at my back," Lugh told him,
and started off with the Dagda and Morrigan after him.
They crossed the yard to the main hall of the fortress. This immense,
circular structure of wattled timber squatted in the center of the enclosure,
the physical and spiritual heart of Tara's life.
As they passed from the sunlight of the yard, the hall's interior was like a
dim cavern. But before their eyes could adjust to the darkness, a sudden
flare of yellow light threw the vast room into sharp clarity and revealed to
them a nightmare scene.
In the center of the hall, a monstrous form rose from the stone circle of the
fire pit.
The body was like that of an enormous maggot that had crawled up from
the earth's blackest bowels, flattened and marked with rings that divided the
soft flesh into segments. It shone with a thick layer of mucous that oozed
from it as it pushed upward past the stones circling the pit. At its upper end
was a boneless head with staring, bulbous eyes fixed to slender stalks that
seemed to grow from the pliant body. Below the eyes was a round,
protruding mouth, like that of a leech, constantly pulsing, sucking, ready to
fix upon some victim, drooling a venomous liquid that sizzled and steamed
as it splattered to the floor.
It reared upward, drawing its huge form high and lifting the head toward the
point of the peaked roof nearly thirty feet above. The eyestalks stretched
out, bringing the eyes forward, and arched downward, directing the lidless
stare at a group of
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25
bright-cloaked men huddled right below. The obscene, sucking mouth

began to drop threateningly toward them.
The men stood, seemingly transfixed by fear, staring helplessly upward at

the thing as it prepared to strike.
IV
THE SEA GOD'S PLAN
"NO. NO. NO! This will never do!" a fussy voice said with sharp
disapproval.
A small figure dressed, like the others, in a multihued robe, appeared from
behind the grotesque creature and stood, hands on hips, looking up at it and
shaking his head.
"It is certainly disgusting. That I will admit. But what good would it be
against the Fomor? Why, if they saw it, they would probably try to carve
the poor thing up for their supper. And some of them are more ugly than it
is." He waved a dismissing hand at the thing. "Now, get away with you," he
ordered curtly.
And with miraculous obedience, the creature instantly began to disappear. It

dissolved, like a cloud dissipated by a sudden wind, blown into tatters that
floated up through the smoke hole in the ceiling's peak. Soon nothing
remained but the embers of a small fire in the pit from which rose a thin
thread of grey smoke.
Lugh and his companions all relaxed and released their grips on their
weapons.
All four had been ready to charge in. Now, seeing the little man, they
understood. For he was Findgoll, High-Druid of the Tuatha de Dananns.
"Findgoll, I object to your criticism," said an imposing grey-haired Druid

who pulled himself stiffly up to his considerable height to glare down at his
small colleague. "I used some of my best skills to conjure that."
Findgoll stepped toward the group of other Druids. They were an imposing
lot, mostly tall, lean, aristocratic men with strong features and an air of
great dignity. Indeed, the Druids
26
were the most influential group in the de Danann society, rivaling even the
High-King in power. But Findgoll, a head shorter than any of the rest, was
not intimidated. His manner toward them was that of a scolding teacher to
unruly small boys.
"If that is your best, then it only proves how decayed your skills have
become from long neglect," he replied uncompromisingly.
"What? Why, how do you dare to—" the other began in an outraged
splutter.
Findgoll cut him off "Listen, you, and all the rest of you," he said fiercely,
his high voice cracking like a whip, "while most of you spent these past
years cowering in your hiding places and praying to Danu that the Fomor
wouldn't find you, I was at work. I was using my talent in sorcery to protect
the other teachers and artists Bres had condemned. My skills are sharper
than ever in my life, more than a match for any Fomor and, I'm betting,
more than a match for any of you. Or would one of you be wishing to give
them a test?"
He glared around at them, his eyes fixing most challengingly on the tall
Druid. None replied. They knew the truth of his words.
"Fine, then," he said. "Now, you're all as out of practice as our warrior
friends outside. So we will practice, practice, and practice. Every skill that
we learned from our teachers in the Four Cities may be needed."
"And sooner than we thought, I'm afraid," Lugh called across the room to
him, striding forward with his companions.
Findgoll looked around toward them. He had a small-featured, cunning face

set below a broad forehead. It lit now with pleasure as he saw his friends.
"Well, you've come back!" he said. Then the ominous words of Lugh
registered and his expression clouded. "But what do you mean? What's
wrong?"
"It's the Fomor," Lugh explained. "They're gathering a huge army, and Bres
himselfis leading them."
"Bres!" exclaimed the Druid, and murmurs of concern ran through the
group of his colleagues.
"We haven't many days in which to prepare," Lugh went on. "We're meeting
tonight in Nuada's quarters to discuss our plans. But, until then, don't speak
of this to anyone else."
"I understand," Findgoll said. "We'll surely all be there." He looked at the
other Druids. "In the meantime, we'd best
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27
be going on with our work, hadn't we? From the look of our warriors, our
magic may be the best defense we'll have."
The four warriors left the Druids and moved back through the hall to the
raised platform at the back where the High-King and his champions sat at
the feasts. On the long table there were set out plates of cheeses and bread,
dried meat and fruit, and large pitchers of a!e. The Dagda helped himself to
a plate of food, took up a whole pitcher, and sat down heavily on one of the
large benches.
"I'm going to watch this," he said. "It should be a good bit of

entertainment."
Morrigan sat down, too, refusing the ale the Dagda held out, folding her
cloak tightly about her and staring ahead, silent and expressionless.
"I'll be back to join you," Lugh promised. "I just want to tell Aine and
Taillta that we're back."
He turned away toward the wooden stairway beside the platform and found
Gilla falling in beside him. He gave him a curious look.
"I thought you were going to eat first."
The clown shrugged. "It'll wait a bit. I want to see them too."
Across the room, the Druids were back at their practice. Findgoll gestured
one of the group forward. He was a young man, and looked very uncertain.
"Ce, you are the newest of our group," said Findgoll. "See what you can
conjure that might frighten the Fomor."
As Lugh and Gilla started up the stairs, they heard the young Druid's
incantation begin. They were nearing the top when there came a muffled
boom and a bright flash of light from below. Then came Findgoll's voice,
raised in sharp annoyance;
"I ask for frightening and what is it I get? A sheep! And a dead one at that!"
"I think it's only asleep, Findgoll," came the weak, defensive voice of
hapless Ce.
"Is it? With all four feet straight up that way?" was the little Druid's biting
retort.
Gilla flashed a broad grin at Lugh.
"Poor Findgoll. He's got his hands full with that lot of pompous tricksters.
Only a handful of real sorcerers in the whole bunch of them."
The two reached the top of the stairs. There a long room ran 28
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29
along the back curve of the hall above the High-King's dais. It was open on
the inside to the hall, edged by a low gallery rail. On the outside was a row
of windows, now all open, allowing sunlight to flood the room.
The few tables and stools that furnished the room were moved to the sides,
leaving the center clear. There two women sat upon the floor amidst piles of
wooden plaques, sections of cloth and hide, metal sheets and thin slabs of
state, all marked with crude maps.
Both women were of striking appearance, but in quite different ways. One
looked to be in her thirties, but still maintaining the freshness and physical
vitality of a much younger woman. She was solidly built, not heavy-limbed
but certainly not frail. She was quite handsome, broad featured, her face
dark complected and crowned by a wealth of black hair lightly salted with
grey. Her expression was at this moment set in concentration, her dark eyes
flashing with energy. She was sorting the piles with sharp, impatient
gestures and grumbling the while.
The other woman was much younger. From her face she seemed hardly
more than a girl. Her features were open, smooth, and pleasant rather than
beautiful, but somehow more natural and satisfying for that. Her cheeks
were high and round and her small nose was dusted lightly with freckles.
Fair hair with the cast of burnished copper was loosely plaited at her neck.
Her figure, however, belied her youthful look. She was in shape
indisputably a woman. And as she sat there, unaware of the arrival of the
men, Lugh let his gaze dwell on her admiringly. It took in the supple curves,
the slender waist, the soft swell of hip revealed by the short, belted warriors
tunic that she wore. He lingered especially over the length of slim, white
legs, the ankles accentuated by the leather thongs of her shoes winding
about the calves. His eyes followed their line on up, past her knees, toward
—
"Lugh!" said a surprised and happy voice.
He jerked and looked up, to meet the frank gaze of bright green eyes. He
flushed guiltily, but she only smiled at him with warm welcome.
The woman beside her wasn't smiling, however. When she saw who had
come, she bent a sharp glare upon Gilla that would have skewered him like
a pig carcass if it had been of
iron.
"So, you've come back from your bit of adventurin', have you?" she said
with heat.
"It makes me fee] good to know you're so glad to see us safe," Gilla replied
with his usual foolish smile.
But she wasn't to be soothed. "Don't try your charming manner on me

again, you standin' there so full of yourself, and with your face still rosy
from the fresh wind and the sun on it." She jumped up from the piles and
advanced on him. "Look at us, penned up here in this dark and smoky hall
for these three days past, filthy from all these bits of trash, our backs
breaking from going through them. We should have been with you."
"It was important work you were doing," Gilla told hev in a defensive tone.
"We'll need the map you can make from all these bits."
"It's done," she said, "but for our last checking. All the pieces of Eire in one
great chart. And if it was so important, why weren't you here doing it
yourself? Just because you're Manannan, the great Sea-God—"
"Taillta, please!" he protested quickly. He looked around toward the stair

head to be sure no one else had intruded upon them and overheard this
astonishing revelation.
For it was true that this peculiar, gawky being was actually Manannan
MacLir, known to those of Eire as a god of the sea who inhabited a mystical
isle protected by sorcery and savage monsters of the ocean depths. In
reality, he was a subject of Queen Danu of Tir-na-nog, sent out by her to act
secretly as a guardian for the proud de Dananns.
Not long after the de Dananns had come to Eire from the distant Blessed
Isles, Danu had established an outpost for him on a small island near to
Eire. She had granted him vast powers over the sea and its creatures, but
these were only to be used to protect his outpost and mask the true nature of
his presence there. For Danu had promised that she would not interfere with
the de Dananns acting of their own free will. No magic of Tir-na-nog would
be used in Eire unless that independent-minded race wished for it.
As a result, Manannan had nothing to sustain him while in Eire except his
own cunning, his fighting skills, and a few conjuring tricks like his
bottomless cloak, But to the lighthearted adventurer, this only made his task
a more exciting challenge. In the disguise of an awkward, harmless clown,
he was able to move about Eire unnoticed, helping the de Dananns in their
struggle for freedom.
30
Now, having carefully made certain that he and his companions were alone
in the halls upper room, he abruptly dropped the higher voice and foolish
manner of the clown, taking on the more assured and refined manner of
Manannan.
"You must remember," he cautioned urgently, "only the four of us can know
who I am!"
"And why is that?" she asked sarcastically. "It's so you can be free to play
the fool—not that it doesn't suit you—and go off on more little adventures."
"Be careful, Taillta," Manannan cautioned, his voice tinged with irritation.
"Even from you I'll take oniy so much."
"Besides, Taillta," Aine said reasonably, "my brother didn't force us to do

this. We did volunteer."
"Thank you, sister, for that stout defense," the tall man said graciously.
'And I assure you both that you'll not be made to do such a thing again."
"Well, all right then," Taillta agreed grudgingly. She walked to Lugh and
threw her arms about him, givyig him a great, crushing hug. "I am glad to
see you back safely," she told him, smiling at last. As an afterthought, she
threw to Manannan, "And you too."
"Show us what you've done," Manannan urged.
"It's over here," Taillta said, directing him to a large table against the outer
wall. She unrolled a great dressed deer hide on which a large and detailed
chart had been painstakingly drawn, Mountains, rivers, inlets, and other
geographic features were included.
"See here," she said, pointing out small circles scattered across the island,
"we've tried to mark where every settlement is and show the roads that link
them."
"Marvelous work!" the tall man said, bending over it to examine its details
more closely. "Really marvelous work. Don't you think so, Lugh?"
But Lugh was paying no attention. It was all on Aine. He stepped forward
and held out a hand to help her up from her seat amidst the piles. As she
rose, she brushed back some stray hairs from her face and then smiled to
see how black her hand
BRES RETURNS
31
was.
"It really is filthy work," she said. "I must be covered with it."
"You look fine to me," Lugh assured her, continuing to hold her other hand.
Manannan looked back and noticed a familiar, foolish expression on Lugh's

face. His eyes narrowed and he called sharply to the young warrior.
"Lugh!"
The young man tore his gaze from Aine and turned it to his tall comrade.
"Yes?"
"We've got to talk now," the other said seriously, turning from the map and
propping his lanky form against the table. "That's why I wanted to come up
here. The others can't hear
this."
Curious, Lugh and the two women took seats on the benches.
Her brother's tone of voice aroused Aine's concern. "Manannan, what's
wrong?
And why are you back in Tara so
soon?"
"Bres is not dead," the man answered tersely. "He's come back to Eire and
is gathering an army of Fomor. We didn't guess those monsters could react
that fast to the rising. Now all the de Dananns are in great danger. Lugh,
what do you think are the possibilities of our friends gathering their forces
or restoring strength to their warriors in time?"
"I would say it will be difficult," Lugh replied.
"Charitable. I'd say it will be impossible. To survive, they are going to need
our help."
"But we are helping them," Lugh said, not understanding.
"It'll take a little more than that," Manannan said. "It will take the powers
Danu has intrusted to us. Think, Lugh, of the Gifts of the Four Cities."
Lugh recalled his first visit to the isle that Manannan called his home.
There, in the strange underground dwelling known as the Sidhe, this

remarkable being had shown him the four objects that Queen Danu had sent
to aid the de Danann cause. Two of those objects had already been put to
use. One was the Lia Fail, the Stone of Truth, which had established
Nuada's right to hold the throne as High-King. The second was the sword
that Lugh carried, an unbreakable blade whose aura of strength endowed
Lugh with the spirit of a champion. But there were two others still awaiting
their time—a spear containing a terrible energy and a massive cauldron
with its own unique powers. He understood what Manannan was speaking
of.
"Of course! The cauldron! Its magic can restore the strength of anyone who
eats from it."
Manannan nodded. "Danu foresaw that it would be needed, as she did the
Lia Fail and your own Answerer."
32
"You're right," Lugh agreed. "We should start for it at once."
"No," said Manannan, lifting a restraining hand. "I'll see to that. You have
another task. The cauldron will be little good if the warriors are not hosted.
That's what you have to do. The Riders of the Sidhe can help you do it in
time."
"But why do I have to do that?" the young warrior wondered. "Anyone

could travel with them. I'd rather go with you,"
"You must do this. You are Champion of the Sidhe. The Riders are charged
by Danu to protect and obey you."
"Champion," Lugh said and laughed ruefully. "Its certain I don't feel like
one."
"It doesn't matter what you feel. You are Champion. The son of Cian,"
Manannan reminded him. "You are the one the Prophecy has said will lead
the de Dananns.
They believe it. They can feel the power in you. You heard what Febal said.
Only you can convince them that they can rise against the Fomor."
Lugh shook his head. "Manannan, I feel as if I'm being used by you as I was
before. You're in control and I have no will."
"This is your own destiny using you, not me," the tall man protested. "And
you freely accepted it. From the moment you chose to become the
Champion of the Sidhe and fulfill the Prophecy, you had no self."
This idea had not been put so bluntly to Lugh by his mentor before. It
seemed to Lugh that Manannan's nature had become more openly
domineering and the idea disturbed him. He felt confused.
"I'm going outside for a time," he announced abruptly. "I need to think a
bit."
He got up and crossed the room to a door in the outer wall. He pushed it
open and stepped through onto a wooden bridge. It linked this upper level
of the hall to the walkway around the top of the palisade.
He crossed to the walkway and stood staring out across the row of timbers
to the countryside and the town below. He tried to make some order of the
many feelings mixed within him.
He was mostly bothered by the sense that his life was still not his own. He
realized that Manannan had controlled it since his childhood, manipulating
him so that he would play out his intended role.
He felt a presence beside him. A hand moved out to rest lightly on his arm.
He turned and looked into the eyes, so
BRES RETURNS
33
brilliantly green, so knowing that they could plumb every depth of him.
"You know, not so many days ago I was just a boy living on a tiny isle," he
told her, "I thought then that my only destiny would be to stay there, fishing
and playing my games. I wonder sometimes if I wouldn't have been happier
knowing nothing
Her expression grew worried. "Lugh, what's wrong?"
"It's just your brother. I don't know. He's taken so much control."
"He's doing what he thinks is right to help the de Dananns win freedom,"
she reasoned. "If the time is short, it seems the only way."
"I suppose that's true enough," he admitted. "I only wish that it was my
idea, or my choice, or anything to do with my own will."
"It will be over soon," she promised soothingly. "Then you can be your
own.
Both of us can."
Her smile raised a responding smile from him. He lifted a hand to lay
against the softness of her cheek.
"I missed you," he told her.
"And I missed you. But that won't be happening again. This time we won't
be separated. I'll ride with you."
"You will not," said Manannan's voice behind them.
They turned to see him crossing the bridge toward them.
"What do you mean?" Aine asked him, clearly puzzled.
"You're not going with him," he said flatly. "Lugh will ride alone. You and
Taillta will stay here at Tara."
Her puzzlement turned to astonishment and anger. "What?" she cried. "But
you just promised—"
"I promised that I wouldn't have you doing any more tasks like this map,"
he said, lifting the rolled-up chart he was carrying. "But you can join in the
training of the warriors here. Or you can organize the de Danann women.
Your help is needed at Tara. Lugh doesn't need it."
"Helping Lugh fulfill his mission in Eire is as much my work as yours,

Brother," she said hotly. "You can't let him go alone."
"He's a warrior. A champion."
"He's a boy. He can't handle this by himself."

"Thank you!" Lugh put in, hurt by her evaluation of his skills. "You're not
much more than a girl yourself!"
"I'm sorry, Lugh," she told him. "But you admitted to me that you still had
doubts. And you know I've had more experi-34
ence than you. I've been in more difficult places and fought more battles."
"Lugh doesn't need you now," Manannan said stolidly. "He needs to act
alone and his last doubts will disappear. There's no reason for you to risk
yourself unnecessarily.'
"He does need me. And you can't speak to me of risks. Until now I've taken
as many as you, and you've never been concerned. What is it? What's
changed your mind? There's more to it than that."
Manannan hesitated. Then the words came reluctantly.
"All right. I've noticed the growing closeness between you. It might be ... in
the way."
"If you think that, then you don't think much of me," she said harshly.
"When have I ever been other than your right arm? When have I ever failed
you?"
"Never," he admitted.
"Then you've no right to think that I would now. I have feelings for Lugh. I
won't deny them. But I have my own sense. This is as much my mission as
it is yours. You sent me to Eire to help Lugh and that comes first. I'd never
let anything interfere with that."
"You might think so," Manannan reasoned, "but you can't be certain. This is
too important to take any risks. Lugh will act alone this time."
She appealed to Lugh, her eyes pleading, her voice urgent.

"Please, help me. Tell him you want me to go with you."
Lugh looked at her and wavered. When he spoke, it was with great
reluctance.
"I don't know, Aine. I want you, but I'd be a fool not to want to keep you
safe."
She stared at him, stricken by his words. Then she spoke in growing heat.
"You don't give much value to what I want, do you?" she said. She wheeled
on her brother. "And you! I used to believe that you were always right. Now
I agree with Taillta. You are a fool!"
Manannan drew himself up. His manner assumed a towering haughtiness.
"I am the guardian of these people. Danu herself has made me so. I'll do
what I think I must to help them succeed. If you can't obey, you'll leave
Eire."
"You really have taken too much control in this," she BRES RETURNS
35
stormed. "The chance to play the hero has made you drunk \vith power.
She spun on her heel and stalked away, too choked by her emotions to say
more.
Manannan and the stunned Lugh watched her go.
"It's for the best," the tall man said with great assurance. Then he slapped
the chart he carried into his young friends anus. "Here. We've got to go
speak with the Dagda and Mor-rigan before tonight's meeting. There's much
to plan."
V SPY
THE MAP WAS unrolled on the plank table. Under the light of the many
flaring torches, the Druids and chieftains of Nuada gathered close about to
examine it.
"This will help us determine the best routes," Lugh explained.
They were crowded into the quarters of the High-King, a wedge-shaped

section of an outer circle of rooms that surrounded the main hall. It was shut
off from the larger room by a thick wall of wickerwork.
"This is most intriguing," Nuada said, leaning down to peer closely at the
fine drawings of woods and hills and rivers. "How did you ever come up
with such a thing?"
"It was the idea of Gilla," Lugh said.
"The clown?" Nuada asked in surprise. He looked up toward the lanky

figure who smiled affably.
"It's something I learned of in my travelin'," he explained in the clowns

high, foolish tones. "Far to the east it was. The people there use these all the
time. Keeps them from being lost, it does that Seemed useful to me. I'm lost
all the time."
"It can help us to choose the safest, fastest routes we'll need to take," said
Lugh. He placed a finger on the spot that represented Tara and drew it
toward the west, "I will take the Riders of the Sidhe and sweep through
Eire, calling every settlement
36
to host. With their magic I can move at great speed. It'll take no more than
three days to reach them all."
Nuada looked from the map to the young champion's face.
"But hosting them isn't enough. You know how weak they are."
"I know," said Lugh, his voice sure, "but there is a way we can deal with
that." He moved his finger across to the eastern sea, to the small island that
showed not far from Eire. "Here, in Manannan's Isle is a cauldron. It has
powers like none ever seen. It can never be emptied. And, more important,"
he looked around him at the listening men, "the food in it has the power to
restore the strength of those who eat! It can restore the whole de Danann
force!"
Impressed, the circle of advisors murmured amongst themselves.
"But why should this Sea-God give it to us?" asked Meglin, the haughty
High-Druid. "He has always been aloof before, a distant and dangerous
being, a mystery who surrounds his island with a deadly fog where
monstrous beings lurk. Some say that he is a monster himself."
Lugh glanced at Gilla from the corner of his eye and saw the disguised
"Sea-God" stifle a laugh.
"Let's say that I know he wishes to give us aid," Lugh said cryptically. "But
his powers do not extend beyond the sea. It's up to us to bring the cauldron
here."
"If this cauldron can be brought to Eire in time to nourish a hosting of our
warriors," said Nuada, "we may have the strength to withstand the Fomor."
"If! If!" Another spoke up. He was a thin, sad-faced, sallow man dressed in
the dark cloak and golden tore of a bard of the Highest rank. His voice had
the tense, shrill quality of a tightly strung harp. He seemed to vibrate with a
nervous energy his frail body couldn't control. "It all sounds a very great
risk to me. A great risk to be taken by this boy who is a stranger to us, who
has appeared so suddenly from nowhere to help us, who claims to be Cian's
son, with no proof of it at all."
"Be careful of your words, Bobd Derg." The Dagda rumbled like a
threatening storm. "He has done nothing to earn our distrust. It was his
courage that made this rising."
"A rising that could see us destroyed, Father," the other countered. He
swept his brooding gaze around the room. "If Lugh fails, there will be no
army for this magic cauldron to restore. If the cauldron is not brought, all
our warriors will be
BRES RETURNS
37
gathered to make easy Bres's slaughter. If there is failure in both things
..."
"We here will surely be destroyed," Nuada finished. "And Bres will do what
he likes with the rest of our people. But if we do nothing at all, the end will
be the same for us. There is no other choice."
"There is another choice," Bobd Derg replied.
"Yes, yes. We all know about your other choice," Findgoll said wearily.
"We've all heard it scores of times." He mocked the bard's dismal tones as
he recited: "We must leave Eire and return to Tir-na-nog!"
"We'd be accepted there," Bobd Derg said earnestly. "Queen Danu promised
that we could return if we chose."
"To become the children of Danu again, not a people of our own," the
Dagda put in heavily. He leaned across the table toward Bobd Derg. His
body towered above that of his son. His words held the finality of death.
"Listen to me for the last time. We will not abandon Eire. We will never
return to a life of pampered ease in the Magic Isles. That is no life for us. It
is no life at all. Eire is our land and I'll have it even if it only means I'll be
buried in it. I stay, whatever the risk. Now, how about you all?"
He threw a challenging gaze around the room, searching each face in the
flickering lights. Some hesitated, but many nodded their quick assent, faces
determined. Finally all joined in agreement, leaving only Bobd Derg silent.
"There is your answer," the giant man said, smiling in triumph at his son.
"You and these others loyal to Nuada do not speak for the entire de Danann
race," the poet said, still hostile, unwilling to accept defeat. "The rest might
think otherwise if they thought no help would come."
"There is no reason for them to think that," Nuada said sharply. "And you
will not suggest it or frighten our people with your talk of doom unless it
becomes certain that these missions have failed."
"And when would we know that?" Bobd Derg asked.
Nuada looked to Lugh for the answer.
"Bres should take ten days to gather his forces and march," the young
champion said. "If all goes well, our missions should take six, eight at the
most. If Bres marches on Tara and we still haven't returned, then will be the
time to ask the de Dananns if they wish to flee."
38
"How is this cauldron to be brought to Eire?" asked Niet, a captain of the

household companies.
"I'll be fetching it," the Dagda said. "Ill go to Manannan's Isle with Angus,
Morrigan, and Gilla Decaire."
"I want to go with you as well," said Findgoll. "I've a great curiosity about
this Manannan MacLir, and you may be needing help of my sort."
"We need none of you wizard's tricks," the Dagda protested. "Only strong
arms and true blades."
But Lugh saw the disguised Sea-God nod sharply at the Druid and wink.
The young man moved quickly to support Findgoll's request.
"No, I think it might be a help. Manannan is a very . . . ah ... peculiar man.
I think he might enjoy meeting Findgoll."

"All right then," the Dagda agreed grudgingly. "But he'll be only an extra
weight to us."
"It's settled then," Nuada confirmed. "We will use this map to decide and
mark the best routes for both missions. Those of you most familiar with the
countryside come here, closest to me."
They began to pore over the map, discussing the virtues of this route over
that. A heated discussion began. Unnoticed at the back of the group, one
youthful warrior listened with a special interest.
He was a fresh-faced youth, his boyish, guileless face topped by a toussled

mass of bright red hair. Normally his manner was bright, his expression
smiling But this night, as he listened, a strange coldness showed in his blue
eyes.
Late into the night, the discussion ended. The planners departed to their
beds. Nuada left to check the fortress guards. Then the youth returned,
slipping past the wicker screen into the High-King's quarters.
He studied the chart still laid out on the table, now marked with the routes
that had been decided. He slipped a piece of broken pottery from beneath
his cloak and scratched a hurried copy of the map upon it with his dagger
point.
Then he left, slipping out into the darkness of the hall, creeping across the
great, silent room to the main doors and out into the night.
No one saw him steal out through the small guard's door at the fortress's
back. And no one saw him ride swiftly away from the town below on a
sleek horse, galloping out to be swallowed by the night.
BRES RETURNS
39
Through that night and the next morning the lone rider pushed his mount
toward the northwest at full speed. He rode deeply into the territory of the
Fomor, but without slackening pace. Boldly he passed by their patrols,
flashing a strange metal device. Finally he made his way through a heavy
picket line and entered the camp of the gathering army.
Not long after this, a sleek black ship slipped away from the sheltered bay
into the sea and headed north.
It cut through the waves swiftly, holding a steady heading. Soon a tall,
sharply glinting object seemed to rise up from the sea ahead. It was the
Tower of Glass.
It was not long after the sleek ship had reached the Tower's quays that a
soldier entered the stark, sunfilled room atop the Tower and approached the
dark figure seated motionless upon the massive throne.
"My Commander," he said, "Bres has returned. He wishes to see you. He

has a young de Danann here with him."
"Let them enter," the metallic voice commanded.
The soldier backed away toward the massive doors and pulled them open.
Two figures moved into the room.
The former High-King strode forward fearlessly. The other came

reluctantly, glancing up with obvious nervousness at the towering figure
brooding there against the backdrop of bright sky. In the smooth black
expanse that should have been a face, the crimson slit of eye showed like a
sun just breasting the world's rim.
"Why have you come back here, Bres?" demanded the being. "And who
have you brought with you?"
Bres smiled and extended a hand toward the red-haired youth.
"Balor, I would like to introduce my son, Ruadan."
"So, this is your son. The product of your secret and brief pairing with—
who was it?"
"Bridget," Bres supplied. "Yes, only she and I know of his true parentage.
The secret has marked her, but she has kept it."
"And you're certain your mother would not expose you, if she knew of your
betrayal?" the one-eyed giant asked the boy.
"Never," came the arrogant reply. The innocent face beamed with a sly
smile.
"You see, she loves me far too much."
"The son is as treacherous as his father," Balor said. "Interesting. No matter

how diluted is the Fomor blood, it still seems to taint the whole. But, what
is it that this young spy has discovered that brings you to abandon your
army?"
40
CHAMPIONS OF THE S1DHE
"The de Dananns have discovered that we are gathering our forces secretly,"
said Bres. "They are making plans to host their own warriors and restore
them to full strength in only a few days."
The eye flicked a fraction wider at this news. The father and son felt the
heat of it increase.
"How could that be?" The voice clanged out like a hammer on cold iron.
"You told me such a thing would be impossible."
"It might be, but for the one called Lugh," Ruadan said, with more
boldness.
"He has shown them how they can do it."
"Lugh!" Balor boomed.

"He is planning to thwart us once again," Bres said in anger. "If he
succeeds, my army will face an enemy equal in strength. We might be
defeated in open battle. Then Eire would be lost to me—and you as well."
The black figure was silent for a long moment. Then, finally:
"Come with me!" it ordered them.
And, with those words, the giant throne shuddered, squealed in agony, and
began to move.
It traveled slowly and unevenly at first, but then with increasing smoothness
and speed. It seemed to follow a thin line, a barely discernible crack in the
hard, polished grey surface of the floor.
Bres and his son exchanged a look of wonder at the sight. Even the former
High-King had never seen the giant move this way. They followed.
The massive throne and its terrible occupant rolled across the large room,
into a wide hallway that led along one outer wall. At the far end, huge
panels of a softly gleaming silver blocked the way. The Commander's
transport came to a halt there, but only for a moment. The panels slid
silently aside to reveal a square empty room, its blank walls sheathed in the
same silver metal. It was high and wide enough to easily accommodate
Balor. The throne slid forward into it, then stopped again and slowly
pivoted to face the giant toward the doors.
"Come in," he told his visitors.
They obeyed, the young man peering about him apprehensively. He had
been in such a room on his strange trip up the Tower to Balor's lofty
quarters. He hadn't enjoyed the experience.
This one was no better. But this time the room was drop-BRES RETURNS
41
ping, and the sensation of pressure was like someone lifting up his insides
instead of trying to push them into his heels.
The sensation grew, along with a rising metallic whine. Just as both became
almost intolerable, they faded. The room thumped softly and was
motionless.
The doors, without any visible hand on them, slid open.
They were looking into a strange twilight darkness alive with what seemed
a constantly shifting galaxy of colored stars.
The throne moved again, carrying Balor forward. The two followed,
peering about them with expressions both curious and uncertain at once.
They were in a wide hallway that ran ahead of them to disappear into a
deeper night. The walls on either side were set with metal panels intricately
decorated with designs alien to the visitors. Within these designs, countless
points of colored light pulsed or glowed or ran in constant patterns. A faint
but steady hum hung in the air.
The throne went on without pausing and the two men stayed very close to
it.
Neither wished to be left behind in such a place.
The corridor was lined with doors, and many of them stood open. As they
passed, Bres and his son peeked into the rooms beyond them. Some of the
spaces were vast, filled with boxh'ke metal shapes in row upon row. Like
the panels on the corridor walls, they were alive with shifting lights.
Enormous power pulsed in them, crackled in them like distant lightning or a
blazing fire. The air was charged with their energy. They chattered and
growled and chirped at one another constantly, as if they were some
company of odd metal beasts arguing hotly amongst themselves.
In other rooms the men saw things that might have been human beds. But
these were always surrounded by fantastic contrivances of metal fitted with
grotesque and cruel-seeming appendages. To the ruthless Bres, the purpose
of the things seemed obvious.
"They must be torture rooms," he murmured knowingly to his son.

Ahead, the corridor ended in another set of silver doors. As they moved
toward it, the faint background hum increased. Father and son exchanged a
questioning glance. Neither could guess—or really wished to guess—the
giant's purpose here.
Balor's strange transport reached the doors and pushed right 42
into them. The heavy throne base forced the metal panels aside and the
three passed through into an enormous room.
It was square, and each flat wall was filled with the complex panels of light.
More sinister devices loomed around them in the semidarkness. The

shifting lights glinting in multiplied reflections from their array of gleaming
parts lent them a chill beauty, like that of a fine jeweled ornament.
But the most striking feature of the room was a wide, circular column that
rose from the floor in the center of the space to touch the flat ceiling. The
visitors estimated that it was five or six times a man's height in thickness.
Its curved surface seemed to them composed of some smooth substance,

shiny and black as the surface of a still, moonlit pond.
Balor trundled forward, aiming for a square box that protruded from one
point in the cylinder's side. There the throne jerked to a stop, its base
touching the curved black wall.
As Bres and Ruadan approached the wall, they realized that it was not solid.
Instead they looked through a glass surface into a darkened space. Within
that space, more tiny lights were visible. And a large shadow, undefinable
but somehow sinister, seemed to float there. Had Balor imprisoned some
monster within this glass column, Bres wondered?
Slowly, slowly, one of the giant's massive hands lifted toward the
protruding box. On its top, rows of small lights in red, green, and yellow
burned steadily. The hand rose over them and then descended. The jointed
fingers uncurled and rested carefully upon the lights.
At once the space beyond the glass leaped to brilliant white light. Its
brightness made them start and they blinked, peering through narrowed
eyes momentarily blinded.
And then they saw.
VI
THE DRUID
THEY WERE LOOKING into a circular room, walled off by the cylinder
of clear glass. The ceiling was a circle of white light that flooded the space
with an icy glow.
From various devices fixed in this bright ceiling were suspended a

bewildering array of instruments and cables, branching limbs of metal,
flexible tubes of some clear material through which liquids of various hues
flowed. Together they formed a complex interlace as they ran together at a
central point.
And there, enmeshed in the tangled net, like an immense spider in its web,
was hung suspended the figure of a man.
It was difficult at first for Bres and Ruadan to even recognize that the thing
before them was a man. It hung in a prone position, arms and legs
spreadeagled. It was very like a spider. The body was encased in an
armorlike shell, shaped like the insects bloated body. The protruding limbs
were spindly, knobbily jointed bones covered with a mottled, grey-white
skin. The many devices suspended about the form all seemed attached to it
by cables and the clear tubes. Some even penetrated the flesh of the wasted
limbs, like the suckers of some mechanical parasite. Only the movement of
the liquid within the tubes showed that it was entering his body, not being
drained out.
The head of the being was suspended in a soft mesh cradle. It appeared to
be little more than a skull, long, narrow, and high-domed. The flesh beneath
the surface of stretched, dry skin was melted away, leaving the slender nose,
long chin, and high cheekbones to jut up sharply, painfully, as if they would
tear through.
Where the eyes should have been there were sunken pits, black depressions
surrounded by crinkled folds of scar tissue. From these caverns into the
depths of the skull, objects like some kind of tuberous plant seemed to
grow.
They filled the
43
44
deep sockets, bulging outward beyond the bony ridges of the hairless brow,
then tapered down to thin, stalklike cables that coiled upward to holes in the
white ceiling.
To Bres and Ruadan, it seemed impossible that this was a living thing. But
once again Balor's hand moved upon the panel. This time a light appeared
in a device beside the awful head, and a low chime sounded from inside the
cylinder.
The head shifted. With an enormous effort it rolled toward them. As it did, a
device suspended beside it rotated, too, and a small circle of light set in one
end, glowing greenly like a cat's eye in the dark, fixed on them.
Immediately, a square panel filling half the outer wall beyond the glass
cylinder came to life. What had been darkness now filled with a hazy light,
like mist before the sun. It brightened, and then it began to fill with
shadows. They took on color and firmer shape, grew clearer, but still
uneven, like the images reflected in a wind-rippled pool. At times a greater
disturbance washed through it, but still the figures that finally appeared in
the lighted square were recognizable.
They were a black giant with a slit of blazing eye and two men, pale faced,
expressions frozen with amazement.
"Why, that's us!" Bres gasped.
"That is what he sees," Balor explained, "with the help of our old devices
and his powers. It is reflected there, along with the images created within
his own mind."
"You can see his thoughts?" Bres asked in wonder.
"Only if he wishes it."
The image steadied further now, as if the being were coining to a fuller
consciousness. Then the lipless slit of mouth parted, moved back from the
blackened stumps of teeth, and there came to them, hollowly, as if amplified
within the cylinder, a horrible whisper.
"So, Balor, you have finally brought Bres to me," it said, Bres looked at the
black giant. "Who is this being? How does he know me?"
"I am Mathgen!" came the rasping, horrible reply.
Bres's head jerked back to that wasted face. "Mathgen!" he cried in

astonishment. "But you are deadl You must be dead!"
"I am alive. Alive if you call this living nightmare that entraps me life."
"I have heard of you," Ruadan said in awe. "You were one of BRES
RETURNS
45
the High-Druids in the old time. But . . . something happened to you. No

one speaks of it."
"I tried to help the de Danann race. That was my crime," the voice wheezed
out, the tones shifting from a soft hiss to a harsh rattle. "For that I was
nearly destroyed and my memory erased by my own people."
"What did you do?" the boy asked, his curiosity overcoming his aversion to
the grotesque being.
The image of Balor, Ruadan, and Bres faded, replaced by others in a swiftly
moving series, rushing by so quickly that the watchers could scarcely
identify them. There were some tan-talizingly brief views of an
extraordinary, glittering land and vast, glowing cities as the dry husk of a
voice spoke in wistful tones of distant memory:
"For many years my people lived in the Four Cities of Tir-na-nog, helped
and strengthened by the people of Queen Danu. The others were happy with
the kindness we were shown, like puppies fawning at a master's heel. But
I"—the feint voice took on a stronger note, as if some ancient will was
reinforced by the memory—"I wanted much more! I saw the power that
could be gained by using the magic of Tir-na-nog. I knew that it could be
wrested from those weak and passive beings. I plotted for years to take
control, learning all the skills I could, stealing the deepest secrets of magic
from Danu's highest Druids."
At this, the images on the wall steadied to reveal a brief but starkly etched
image of a sharp-featured man at work in a vast cavern of a room. Around
him fires flickered beneath vats and beakers of bubbling liquids, sending
colored, coiling streams of smoke into the air. Strange objects, bits of beasts
and birds and even men were piled upon the table where he worked,
feverishly mixing ingredients in a copper cauldron.
"Soon," Mathgen went on, "I became strong enough to rival them all in
power!
But when I finally struck, when I finally moved to seize those isles, it was
by my own people that I was stopped."
There came another jumbled montage of images, this time of shifting forms
and flashing weapons. This changed quickly to a view of two men bursting
through a doorway.
Though they appeared much younger than he knew them, Bres still
recognized the massive warrior and the tiny, bright-robed druid.
46
"That is the Dagda and Findgoll!" he said in astonishment.
"Yes. They were the ones who thwarted me. I escaped them and managed to
leave the Magic Isles. But Danu sent her powers after me."
Another scene flickered across the wall at this. It was a confused blur of
crashing seas, wind-blasted clouds, and lightning, ending abruptly in an
explosion of light that wiped the picture away. The lighted wall faded into a
blackness and then, slowly, the image of the three watchers in the room
came back into view.
Mathgen's voice went on again, but very weakly now, as if the effort to
recall this harsh memory had sapped its energy.
"They thought then that they had finished me," it said, "that I was dead."
"One of our ships found him floating in the sea," Balor said, picking up the
tale. "He was burned and broken, barely alive. He would have died soon if
my people had not returned him here."
"What is this place?" Bres asked, looking around him.
"It was meant for the use of our physicians," Balor supplied, "to treat and
heal our people. Once, long ago, these devices would have regenerated him.
But now, with the aid of his own powers, they only manage to sustain his
life."
"Yes . . . my life," the Druid said with a renewed strength gained from a
pride in this single victory. "I am still alive, and my mind is still my own.
Through it, my powers are still intact. The knowledge of magic I took from
Tir-na-nog can still be used. And I will use it to help the Fomor achieve the
one end that we both seek—the complete destruction of the de Danann
racel"
With his intention thus stridently proclaimed, Mathgen's voice again lost
much of its energy. Reduced to little more than a soft rustling, its next
words were, once more, addressed to the visitors.
"Now, what is it that you seek of me? I feel a certain urgency in you."
"Mathgen, we have need of your powers," Balor said. "You told me of the
Prophecy. You helped me discover Lugh's hiding place. Now you must help
me deal with him. He intends to save the de Danann cause."
"So, he plagues you again. And how will he do these things?"
"He knows of a magical cauldron that can restore full BRES RETURNS
47
strength to the de Dananns," Ruadan supplied. "And he will use the Riders
of the Sidhe to warn every settlement that they must host."
"What are these Riders of the Sidhe?" the spiderlike being hissed.
"They are a company of mystical warriors, the boy said. "But not men ... at
least not living men. They move with the speed and fury of a fierce wind
from the sea. He says that they will sweep him around Eire in only a few
days."
"I've seen these warriors myself," Bres put in. "Lugh brought them when he
appeared at Tara to help drive me out. They are a strange and terrible force,
deadly fighters that seem unkiliable."
As Bres spoke, the image of himself, his son, and Balor on the wall began
to fade. Replacing it was a blurred image of a troop of men, not solid
beings, but like the substance of the sunlit, silver clouds pushed by a
powerful wind, sweeping over green meadows.
"I see them," Mathgen said. "They have a powerful aura of energy. But I
sense that they are not totally invulnerable. There are forces that even they
cannot withstand."
Then, as quickly as it had come, this image faded, too, and that of the three
grouped by the cylinder returned.
"Tell me more, boy," the soft, sibilant voice urged. "What else have you
discovered about this Lugh? Tell me everything you know about him, about
who he is, where he comes from, what he is."
"There's little enough to tell," Ruadan said regretfully. "He appeared from
nowhere to help the de Dananns. He's revealed nothing about himself
except that he is the son of Cian, the one the Prophecy said would lead the
de Dananns to freedom ..."
'And destroy the Fomor power," the grating voice of Balor finished. "Yes,
we know well enough about that Prophecy."
"The son of Cian," the voice of the wasted Druid mused, and another scene
imposed itself upon the lighted panel. It was only a brief flicker—a scene of
a warrior being cast onto the rocks of a sea-swept beach by the massive
hand of Balor— and then the image of Mathgen's vision was gone again.
"But Cian had no powers like this boy Lugh," he said. "Where have they
come from? You must have some idea of their source."
"Some say he has the help of Danu herself " the son of Bres offered
hopefully.
"The Lia Fail that he brought to Tara to pro-
48
BRES RETURNS
claim the true High-King was from the city of Falias, in Tir-na-nog."
"Danu swore that she would never interfere in Eire," the hoarse whisper
replied. "He has some other help. Now think, boy, think! There must be
something else, some bit of information you have learned."
"I don't know," Ruadan said with some desperation. He searched his mind
again, and this time came upon a notion. "It might be he is somehow linked
to Manannan MacLir," he suggested timidly.
"Manannan!" The Druids faint voice grew stronger, fueled by new interest.
"Why do you say that?"
"Because this magic cauldron that Lugh intends to use is in Manannans

Isle,"
Ruadan explained. "He is sending a party to fetch it back to Eire."
"Who is in this party?" Balor asked.
"The Dagda, Morrigan, Angus Og, and a strange character called Gilla
Decaire, along with the High-Druid Findgoll."
"So many of my old friends!" the being in the web hissed thoughtfully.
"And Manannan MacLir," Balor's iron voice rattled. "Is that sorcerer
somehow involved in this? That nuisance who plagues my ships with his
monsters and fogs and calls himself a sea-god? Tell me, Mathgen. What do
you see?"
Once more the image of the room faded and new scenes formed. But they
were shifting, foggy, and unclear. There were glimpses of an isle, of rolling
hills, of a great mound, of silver warriors contending on a plain, all flowing
together like water in a stream.
"It is his isle you see," the Druid said, "but it is hard. My powers are being
blocked. He shrouds himself from my vision as he shrouds his isle, and I
sense an even greater force behind his."
The images became a flood of colors that swirled and drained away. They
left behind the picture of the room and its occupants.
"Still, I was able to sense that this place of his has some value to Lugh, and
that these Riders of the Sidhe come from that isle," Mathgen told them.
"Yes, Balor, I think that it is time we learned a great deal more about this
Manannan."
"But what about me?" asked Bres. "It will take days for those mindless
Fomor beasts you've exiled to Eire to be
or;
49
Ul eanized into a useful army. If Lugh and the others complete their
missions, forces from the Tower may have to join us to insure a victory."
"No!" Balor rumbled. "You know my decision."
"Balor is right," the being in the web rasped. "To send the Tower forces is
unnecessary. There are other ways to make it certain that you will win.
There are ways to end this foolish uprising and leave the de Dananns nearly
leaderless. Easy prey for your army."
"What are these ways?" Bres asked, clearly skeptical.
"It is quite simple." The image on the wall narrowed suddenly, seeming to
shoot forward so that Ruadan's startled face filled the picture. "The boy, I
sense, has a map."
"I have," Bres's son admitted, pulling the etched fragment from his tunic.
The image on the wall shifted to it, showing the fine lines scratched upon
the pottery.
"You see, Balor," the Druid said, "with that and with the charts in this
tower, you can trace the exact routes their warriors will take. They will be
alone and far from help. They can be destroyed. Without them and their
success, the de Dananns are finished. The Prophecy is finally ended, and I
have my revenge."
"Even alone, the Dagda and Morrigan will not be so easy to kill," Bres said.
"And my forces can't move quickly enough to catch them."
"Balor must help you if he wishes to keep from committing more of the
Tower's forces," Mathgen replied. "He must provide you with the means to
reach them and see them destroyed,"
"What about Lugh?" asked Ruadan. "With these Riders of the Sidhe, he'll
surely be even harder to stop."
"They may be supernatural beings, but I believe a way can be found to deal
with them," the Druid said. "Lugh's mission can be stopped. Destroying the
boy himself may be more difficult."
'You have doubts that it can be done, with all your powers?" Balor asked,
the voice touched with an odd note of interest.
"The Prophecy, Balor," Mathgen said bluntly. "If he is fated to fulfill it, you
are powerless."
"Your Prophecy does not make the future," Balor replied. "It only warns us
of possibilities. They can be changed."
50
BRES RETURNS
"Still, if the boy survives and is captured, have him brought here," Mathgen
suggested. "There may be other ways to deal with him, and more we could
learn."
"I'll do as you wish," said Balor. "But I'll take no chances on his escape
again."
"And this Manannan," added the figure in the web. "He, too, cannot be
treated too lightly. He may be dangerous. His powers over the sea may be
real ones."
"Manannan MacLir I will see to myself" Balor promised.
The skeletal Druid's scarred mouth pulled into a ghastly smile. The hoarse
whisper came softly, chilly, like a winter wind blowing fine, hard snow
across the ice.
"I am content. Now, please, leave me to rest."
Obediently, Balor moved his massive hand across the lighted panel once
again.
The light faded and the being slipped back into an unnatural twilight where
the stars were tiny, winking, colored lights.
A rising scream of metal upon metal echoed in the caverns of cut stone
below the Tower. From the depths of a square pit, a platform lifted upward,
carrying the huge objects slowly toward the light. As the floor of the
moving platform reached a level with that of the storage area, the shrill
whine died away. The platform jerked to a stop, and dozens of grey-
uniformed men moved briskly forward to surround the two massive
things.
Shrouded in blankets of heavy cloth, the masses—several times a man's size

in height and length—were without identifiable form. The only visible
portions were enormous, dull-black wheels that thrust beyond the covers.
There were two wheels on either side of each of the hulking things, and
they allowed the men to easily roll the objects from the platform and across
the floor of the storage area, toward the huge, open doors that led onto the
quays.
Sital Salmhor—Balor's chief aide—stood with Bres and Ruadan and

watched the activity. His voice was heavy with a
clear distaste.
"These machines were not intended for such uses as this,' he said. "They are
meant to help us restore our civilization on the day we leave this Tower.
There are few of them, and they have been carefully stored away for a very
long time. It was not meant that they should be used to save the likes of the
Fomor of Eire."
51
Bres bridled at the man's superior air. The Tower Fomor were always very
arrogant and uncaring in their attitude toward their deformed and exiled
bretheren. Bres had no more love for the disgusting beasts himself but he
did see their
"You may never have a chance to leave your precious Tower if the de
Dananns are not stopped," he said. "You should be eratelul you've escaped
giving me more help than this!" He put on a haughty manner of his own. "If
these marvelous things of yours can really move quickly enough to head off
the Dagda's party!"
Salmhor reacted to this as if it were a personal insult. He was an orderly,

highly disciplined, and fastidious soldier of the Tower Fomor's elite officers'
corps. He believed this untainted portion of his race to be far superior in
every way to other beings, especially the upstart de Dananns. He saw Bres
as inferior, too, despite the Fomor blood in him. He was a mongrel, an
insult to the pure Fomor. A barbarian.
With an irritated tug on the tunic of his impeccable uniform, he replied icily
to the former High-King.
"Of course they can move quickly enough. If things go well, they should
allow us to destroy this de Danann band without even engaging the
machines themselves. Their power is far beyond your ability to imagine, I
am sure."
Bres was unimpressed. "Just so they succeed. And what about Lugh?"
"Mathgen has told us what to do," Salmhor said curtly. "Those drums are
being loaded for that purpose."
He nodded to a far corner of the immense storage area, where more Fomor
were loading large metal barrels from a towering stack onto small carts and
wheeling them toward the quay.
"We're planning to use a company of Eireland Fomor for the actual

operation,"
he went on. "They know the area, and even they should be able to handle
such a simple task."
And you avoid risking any more of your own grand lads as well." Bres
added.
'That's nothing to do with you," Salmhor replied. It is if there are any

mistakes and Lugh or the others escape. "
They will not escape. Our arrangements will guarantee that."
Bres shook his head, "I'm not so certain. Most of the de 52
Dananns are no threat. They are frightened and weak. But Morrigan, the
Dagda, and this new champion are dangerous. Its a foolish mistake to
underestimate them. I want there to be no chance that you will."
"Put your fears to rest," the officer told him with proud assurance. "No
primitive warriors can withstand the forces we will use against them."
They looked out across the quay to where the huge and sinister machines
were now being loaded onto one of the black ships. Bres watched the work
with a vague uneasiness. He hoped that Sital Salmhor spoke the truth.
BOOKH
DESPERATE MISSIONS
VII
THE MISSIONS BEGIN
THE STARS FADED as the dark sky lightened. The rising sun revealed
Lugh and his companions gathered on a hillside not far from the rounded
dun of Tara.
They were ready to make their departures.
The two separate missions were getting ready to head in opposite ways
across the mist-softened, green countryside of the early dawn. The Dagda
and his comrades—Gilla, Mor-rigan, Angus, Findgoll—stood at one side.
Behind them waited the score of carefully picked warriors who would
accompany them. Facing this group, stood Lugh, alone.
"Remember now, when your own mission is done, you must bring the
Riders to the coast and await our return from Manan-nan's Isle," Gilla was
telling Lugh.
"I will," Lugh promised. "With their help we can easily bring the cauldron
back to Tara in time."
"Good enough," the Dagda said with satisfaction. "With luck, we'll see you
in four or five days, then."
"You will," said Lugh. He took the hand of each in a last gesture of
farewell.
Gilla gave him the usual wide, foolish smile.
"I'll say hello to this Manannan for you," he said cheerily.
"Just don't you be joking with him, Clown," Lugh advised with pretended
gravity. "He might get angry. He's quite mad, you know, and he's ugly as
well."
The disguised Sea-God narrowed one eye at his young friend, but the idiotic
grin never slipped. "He likely thinks the same of you," came the innocent
reply.
Lugh finished the leavetaking and moved along the hillside away from
them.
There was a soft, chill wind blowing across the meadows and it ruffled the
tall grasses around his knees and tugged his cloak and hair as he stood
there, a solitary fig-55
56
DESPERATE MISSIONS
ure now, looking out across the countryside and up to the grey surf of
rolling clouds scudding ahead of the wind.
He lifted his arms as Manannan had taught him and murmured the
invocation that would bring the Riders from whatever nameless void they
inhabited.
At once the light breeze freshened. It swept the clouds ahead and blasted
across the hillside, carrying a booming sound of its rushing. And then, in
the distance, a mounted troop came into view, rushing toward them with a
speed no mortal horses could match.
At first view they were a blur, no single rider distinguishable, more a stream
of light with gleaming points, like some sunlit brook cascading across the
rocks. But as they neared, separate beings became discernible, the heads of
sleek horses raised as they strode, the heads of riders glinting in helmets,
the confused tangle of many speeding hooves. But no sound came from
them save that of the rushing wind and a bright, melodic jingle.
In moments they were on the hill, drawing to a stop beside the young
champion.
They sat in two columns, the horses tall and slender, fine heads proudly
raised. The warriors sat stiffly upright upon them, clad in glowing cloaks
that fluttered about them as if the wind still rushed past. Silver helmets
masked their faces so nothing could be seen of them but the grim set
mouths and the chill lights of their gleaming eyes. Each carried a lance at
his side, its hilt encircled by fine silver rings that jingled together as the
company rode, to create the fine, high music that surrounded them.
At their head was a riderless horse, a grey-white mount with a sleek,

muscled body. It stood waiting, the energy within it making the body
luminous, like a white cloud before the sun. Lugh approached the horse and
prepared to mount.
But he paused and turned as someone called his name. Aine and Tail-Ita
were moving up the slope toward him.
Taillta held back and let Aine walk up close to Lugh alone. The young
woman laid a hand upon his on the reins and met his smile with an
emotionless face.
"Angry as I am, I had to come to give you a farewell," she said in a tightly
controlled voice. "All fortune ride with you, for the good of the de Dananns.
They are all that matters now." "Aine—" he began, moving a hand to her
shoulder. But she pulled back.
57
"No " she said curtly. "There's no time for that anymore. You have to go.
You are the Champion of the Sidhe now."
Before he could reply, she turned and walked away, her head high and her
stride proud, the burnished hair shimmering like red fire about her
shoulders in the early sun. His eyes followed her and a knot tightened in the
center of his chest. He wanted to call out to her, to tell her to come with
him. But he held back stubbornly. She and Taillta would be safer here, he
told himself.
And Manannan was right about him. It was time that he was truly on his
own.
Taillta moved up beside him and he looked at her, seeing that familiar,
knowing expression in her eyes.
"You're being as great a fool as that gawky clown, you know," she said
bluntly. "I'm angry, too, at being left behind." Then a faint smile touched
her lips. "But you're still as much a son to me as you were for those years I
fostered you, and I know you mean well. I couldn't let you ride away into
danger without your knowing that and havin' my blessing."
She raised her arms and he gave her a warm hug. Then she patted his arm
lightly as she said in a scolding, motherly way:
"You come back to us safely now. Never forget what I've taught you. And
don't forget to eat enough!"
He smiled at her. "I will. And, Taillta, you'll always be a mother to me as

well.
This was too much for the tough and seemingly stoic woman. To hide the
starting tears she turned quickly away and moved to join the others.
Lugh mounted and settled himself well into the saddle, knowing the speed
with which they would move. He lifted a hand in a parting wave and gave
the Riders the command to leave.
With a sudden roar and a sharp blast of wind, the silver company was off.
The grey-white horse went with them, sweeping Lugh along in their midst.
The Dagda's party watched the glowing stream rush away.
They would delay no longer themselves. Climbing onto their own, earthly
mounts, they turned across the hillside into the rising sun and headed away
from Tara.
On the smooth hillside only two figures were left, looking very lonely now
as they stared after the rapidly disappearing company. The younger
woman's face was still sternly set, but a single, betraying tear traced a bright
path on the white cheek.
58
DESPERATE MISSIONS
The departing horsemen moved at a good pace, anxious to reach the sea in
three days. Soon they were far out from Tara and confident that at this rate,
they would make their goal well
ahead of time.
Morrigan took on her raven form and flew out far ahead of the rest to spy
their route in case they should encounter Fomor parties. She kept up a sharp
observation, sweeping back and forth across their path. Below her, the
company continued to move at a good pace.
"It's a fine day for traveling, it is that," said Gilla, bouncing along
awkwardly on a horse as lanky as he, beaming with a child's simple joy as
he admired the scene.
The Dagda looked down from the heights of his great horse at the clown
and shook his head in disbelief.
"You have a truly amazing view of things/' he said with heavy sarcasm.
"Here it is, a fall day where the sun is never warm, where a cold wind nips
at us with the sharp whelp's teeth of the coming winter wolf and smells of a
storm coming off the sea, and you say that it's fine!"
"It could always be worse, surely," Gilla countered. "And we're off on a fine
adventure. That's enough to raise the spirits,
so it is."
"An adventure?" the Dagda said. "Is that what you call this mission of
ours?" "Of course!" the other replied brightly. 'And think what life
would be without it."

"I'm not seeking any excitement on this trip," Findgoll said, pulling his
horse up on the other side of Cilia's to join the conversation. "I'm only
hoping that we'll return in time to save our people from the Fomor."
"We will," the Dagda assured him, "if this Manannan fellow cooperates."
"And if we don't run upon some Fomor patrol," Angus Og added from
beyond his father.
"Ah, there'll be no danger of that!" Gilla declared heartily. "The Morrigan

will give us plenty of warning. Getting the cauldron back safely from the
isle will be the tricky bit."
"You're certain of that?" the Dagda asked doubtfully.
The clown beamed assurance. "Of course. This little ride to the sea, why it'll
be no trouble at all!"
A dull grey metal spade chunked softly into the damp earth. The man in the
ragged dress of a Fomor warrior heavea out the
59
shovelful of moist, black soil and paused to get a breath and examine his
trench.
It was waist deep now and long and wide enough to contain a Iving human
form.
He nodded with satisfaction and looked along the ridge of the low hill. A
score of other warriors worked away at like tasks, cutting out a line of small
trenches.
He looked up at the sky, half covered with a front of grey clouds sliding
across from the east. H~ pulled down the filthy scarf that covered the lower
half of his face so that he could sniff the air for the scent of rain. He
revealed a nose and mouth free of such deformities as the Fomor used the
scarves to hide. In fact, nothing about the warrior seemed marked by the
grotesque abnormalities of the island Fomor. And the same was true of the
others along the ridge.
One of the warriors was striding briskly along the line. As he moved he
repeated the same orders in crisp, curt tones.
"Hurry up and finish, all of you. Hurry up! As soon as you're finished with
your trench, gather brush to cover it. Be certain you can't be seen from
below or from above." He stopped and raised his eyes to scan the sky. "We
must be under cover before we come within that bloody raven-woman's
range."
"How much longer do you think it'll be, Captain?" the first warrior asked.
The officer shook his head. "There's no way to tell how far ahead of their
party she may fly. We can't take any risks."
"There's no chance that they won't come this way?"
"It's the fastest route to the coast," he said, "and it's the way they've marked
on their own charts." He pulled out a small packet and unfolded it into a
large sheet of thin material marked by a detailed map of the countryside. He
held it for the warrior to see, placing a finger on a line marked in red. "You
see, they'll move down this way, and then they'll come right here." He
smiled and placed a finger on the valley.
Gilla Decaire put a long finger on the valley marked on his map and then
checked the spot against the countryside.
Ahead the road dipped down into a cleft. The smooth hills they had been
crossing since leaving Tara had become a bit more steep, and here they rose
up to form a deeper valley, one side rising in a rocky, sheer face where it
formed its narrowest point below them. But beyond that the land seemed to
open up, and wide, flat country was visible.
Gilla nodded with satisfaction.
60
"This is the last of this rugged bit," he told the others grouped around his
horse. "It gets much smoother beyond that cleft."
"It can't be soon enough for me," the Dagda said, looking up with distaste at
the hills bunched like great, lurking beasts. "This countryside is too
confining. Too many chances of surprises."
"Well then, let's get ourselves out of it with no delay," Gilla urged.
The Dagda gave the order and they started forward, moving into the valley
and down toward the narrow cleft. The escorting de Danann warriors rode
in a tight wedge, point forward, sides forming a sheltered pocket for the
Dagda and his companions.
It was a cool afternoon, and still, as before a storm. The overcast was
complete now. A low, even, rippling sheet of clouds masked the sun,
softening the countryside with a haze of grey.
Gilla and Findgoll rode side by side, discussing their route beyond the
valley, making pleased noises over their fine progress so far. Angus rode
easily, engaged in light banter with two young warriors in the company.
Overhead Morrigan swept easily, lightly, almost playing on the faint

currents of air, as if even the tough and wily bird-woman had succumbed to
the quiet and ease of the journey.
Only the Dagda remained wary, the old veteran's sense of the dangerous
that had kept him alive so long preventing him from relaxing. They passed
deeper into the valley that rose higher and higher. As they neared the
bottom end, his eyes swung ever more restlessly back and forth, searching
the hills on either side.
He had just completed a probing examination of the ridge on his right and
was swinging his head to the left when, in the tail of his eyes, he caught the
flicker of something bright.
Immediately he jerked his gaze back toward it. It had been the briefest of
glimmers, but he had seen it, he was sure. Somewhere up there, along that
hill's crest. But there was no sign of it now, no movement, nothing at all on
the bare hillside save for that row of brush along the very top.
They were entering the deepest point of the valley, just before the cleft. A
steep wall of bare rock rose on their left, the high slope on the hillside on
their right. In moments they would be through and into open country once
again.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
61
It could have been stray sunlight on a piece of shiny stone or a pool, he told
himself. But his battle instincts told him it was not. It was the glint of metal,
and that meant a weapon. Something was wrong.
He opened his mouth to call a warning to Angus. But even as the first
words started from him, the warrior riding beside his son jerked sideways
and toppled heavily from his mount.
There was no sound. The warrior gave no cry. The rest of the party
continued on, not even aware. But Angus pulled up his horse in shock and
stared down at the body crumpled below him, stared without
comprehension at the thin shaft of grey that stuck from the chest.
Only the Dagda realized what was happening.
"Everyone look out!" he bellowed. "We're in a trap!"
And as he spoke, death began to rain upon them.
Haifa dozen of their warriors were struck at once. Some fell or were
knocked from their horses by the force of the impact. One slumped forward
while another maintained his seat, clutching the shaft imbedded in his thigh.
A horse was hit, staggering and falling sideways to roll its rider under.
Another reared up, shrieking in its pain, and then dropped down. Other
horses began to panic and there was instant confusion in the company.
A young warrior right in front of Gilla took a bolt through his neck and it
tore out, spraying his lifeblood with it. The disguised Sea-God searched
around him, at a loss to know where these silent messengers of death were
coming from.
But the Dagda knew. He understood the meaning of the glimmer of light.
"It's bowmen, on the ridge!" he shouted. "Angus, get the others out of this.
I'm going after them!"
Gilla now grasped what was happening. He, too, recognized the weapons
being used against them and understood that the Dagda meant to stop them
alone. As the champion turned his mount out of the press and started up the
slope, Gilla shouted a desperate warning.
That's madness! You can't make it up that hill!"
But the Dagda was already far up the slope, urging his horse ahead ever
faster, charging directly toward the ridge as he lifted his huge battle-ax to
swing in one hand above his head.
Then the hidden bowmen realized what he meant to do and jnore of the
lethal darts began to fly toward him. The Dagda's horse was struck in the
chest. It shuddered and its forelegs
62
collapsed under it at full gallop. Its momentum drove it forward, pulling the
Dagda over and crashing heavily atop him. Neither of them moved again.
Down below, the rest of the party looked up toward the downed man,
momentarily stunned by the swift and total defeat of the giant they thought
of as invincible.
"By all the powers!" Findgoll cried. "Is he dead?"
"Never mind!" Angus shouted. "Come on! We must get away from here!"
It was true. The brief respite the Dagda's lone attack had afforded the rest of
them was now over. The darts were again all being directed into the
defenseless group.
But they quickly realized that getting away was impossible. Most of the
horses were already dead or wounded. The tangle of their bodies blocked
the narrow way for those remaining. They were trapped there against the
steep backdrop of rock and left with nowhere to go. Their only chance was
to scramble for cover behind the few scattered rocks and bushes and the
carcasses of the dead animals.
"If the Dagda's not dead, I hope the fool giants stunned," Gilla said as he
and Findgoll dove into the shelter of a fallen horse. "He'd be prickled like a
hedgehog if he went up that slope."
"What kind of weapon are they using on us?" Findgoll asked.
"It's a bow of a marvelous kind," Gilla told him. "I've seen them used
before.
They can shoot twice the distance of any other bow, and with twice the
force and accuracy."
"Look!" cried Angus, pointing up. "There's Morriganr The black figure
sailed above them, then banked and began a tight spiral as she dropped
toward them.
"She's coming down!" Findgoll cried in alarm. "If she doesn't see those
bowmen and comes too close ..."
"Then we may lose her as well," Angus finished grimly.

And they watched helplessly as the great bird swooped steadily lower, into
the range of the deadly bolts.
VIII
FINDGOLL'S MIST
WHEN MORRIGAN HAD flown back from her advance scouting to check
on the party's progress, she had seen them under attack. She started down to
try to discover what was happening to them.
The arrows moved with such speed that she was at a loss to discover their
source until she saw a figure rise from the screening shrubbery on the hill's
crest to get a better shot. She saw him lift some curious device and look
along it, then saw the bow at its front snap forward, sending a shaft toward
her companions huddled below.
Without hesitation, she furled her wings and dropped, shooting downward
like an arrow herself, talons and beak ready for an attack.
The captain of the hidden bowmen had seen her soaring above and saw her
speeding down. He called a warning to his men.
"There's that blasted crow-woman now. Shoot her!"
A flock of arrows sang upward to meet her descending flight.
She saw them coming and, in a desperate move, she tucked herself into a
bail and fell like a stone, barely dropping out of the darts' path in time. As
they whistled harmlessly over her, she pulled herself from the plummet with
an effort, turned and flapped away, zigzagging in .her flight to avoid further
shots.
Once beyond their easy range, she circled back and swooped down to land
amongst the fallen horses and men. Hopping into the shelter of a downed
horse, she effected her transformation and looked about her at those left.
Her eyes narrowed.
"Where's the Dagda?" she rasped.

Hes up there," Angus told her, pointing to the still figure on the slope. "We
don't know if he is alive or not."
She looked toward the fallen man. For an instant, worry soft-63
64
ened the harshness of her face. Then rage hardened it again and she drew
her weapons.
"Not much use in having those out," GUla remarked. "You aren't going to
be gettin' close enough to use them."
She gave him a hard look. "Then what do we do?" Her dry voice crackled.
A warrior, hidden behind a nearby horse carcass, suddenly jerked backward

and fell, a shaft through his shoulder.
"Looks to me as if we sit here and wait for them to hit us, one by one,"
Angus said angrily.
"They are very good," Gilla remarked. He looked over at Findgoll,

crouching next to him. He was sheltered except for his rump, sticking up
above him and looking rather exposed. The clown shoved it down.
"Careless, leaving that out," he said affably, then looked up toward the sky.
"A pity it's so early in the day. If we could survive until nightfall, we might
sneak away."
"They're not going to give us the time for that," Angus said, "Look there."
On the hillside above, a score of figures had suddenly become visible. The
Fomor warriors, each carrying a strange-looking bow, were moving boldly
down the slope toward them.
"What are they about now?" Findgoll asked, peeking out at them.
"I'd say they're tired of us not obligin' them and allowing ourselves to be
shot," Gilla casually remarked. "They're simply going to stroll down here
and move into positions where they can hit us. And there's really not much
we can do about it."
The descending bowmen moved past the Dagda's body, ignoring the still
figure as dead. Then they began to spread out, some coming straight in,
others angling off to the left and right.
"See there?" Gilla said brightly, as if he'd won a bet. "What did I tell you?
They'll surround us and leave us no place at all to hide."
"I wish you'd stop being so damnably cheerful about it," Angus said
irritably.
"They're going to kill us."
"Oh, I don't think so," Gilla replied. "No, there's always some way to make
things work out. I mean, it's not going to be night soon, but darkness is
something any good sorcerer can create." He patted his Druid companion
on the seat.
"Of course!" the little man cried, sitting up. "What a fool I am. I can lay a
blanket over us that they can't see through."
DESPERATE MISSIONS
65
"Can you make it an illusion for them and not for us?" Gilla asked.
"Certainly," Findgoll assured him. "But it will only last a short while."
"It'll have to be long enough," said Gilla.
'All right, then, just help me get my things!"

He began crawling for a downed horse nearby. Gilla followed. When they
reached it, the two men pulled loose a basket strapped to the animal's back.
The Druid began to rummage within it.
Another of the remaining de Danann warriors clutched suddenly at a shaft

in his throat and fell.
"Best hurry, Findgoll," Gilla said. "They're already too close.
But the little Druid could not be rushed. With some twigs of yew and oak
pulled from the basket he built a small fire. It took precious moments to
start it with flint and steel and to blow it to life.
"Try to move a bit faster, Findgoll." Gilla urged.
The Druid selected certain phials from his basket carefully.
"Faster, Findgoll," said Gilla, watching the bowmen advance.
He painstakingly mixed the assorted elements from the phials in a small

silver bowl.
"Hurry, Findgoll!" Gilla urged again, a bit more desperately.
The Druid muttered an incantation over his concoction. The bowmen were
now close on three sides, their weapons rising to fire at the unprotected de
Dananns.
"They're going to shoot!" Gilla called and squeezed his eyes closed to wait
for the impact of the bolt.
Findgoll tossed the potion on the fire.
With a rush of flame, a fat billow of grey-black smoke puffed up and out.
It gushed like a spouting geyser from its source in the fire, rolling out in a
wave in all directions.
At the sound Gilla opened his eyes and grinned. "Good work. Now
everyone get down. Lie flat and lie still."
The survivors obediently lay down, weapons out and ready at hand.
The attackers moved up to the edge of the cloud and hesitated there,
unwilling to enter this eerie, unnatural mist. But their captain was impatient
and shouted angrily.
What are you waiting for? It's only some foolish Druid trick.
66
DESPERATE MISSIONS
67
Now get in there and finish them. We can't leave any of them alive."
Reluctantly the circle of men moved forward, into the enveloping shroud of
grey mist. It was cool and damp within, the drifting tendrils of the cloud
clinging, coiling about them as they moved. Its thickness obscured
everything, draining all color, leaving only vague shapes that seemed to
glide forward from the swirling void.
The bowmen crept along, slowly, eyes searching around them, loaded
weapons ready. The survivors waited silently, motionlessly, for them to
come.
Angus lay on his stomach, hearing his own heart, trying not to breathe.
Something crunched not far from his feet. He fought his impulse to roll
over and look and lay still, feeling the skin of his shoulders prickle at the
expectation of a metal shaft sinking home there. But the crunching of the
footsteps moved on by.
He risked lifting his head. The mist seemed only a faint haze to him. He
could clearly see a bowman only a few feet away, stopped, back to him.
Silently he levered himself up, lifted his sword, and lunged. The weapon,
skillfully aimed, drove through the Fomor's back, skewering the heart. The
man made only a brief grunt of pained surprise and fell. He thudded down
softly, but his falling weapon clattered to the rocks. It was loud in the
muffled silence.
"What was that?" another Fomor cried aloud, his voice betraying his
nervousness.
"Quiet!" the captain ordered sharply from outside the cloud, trying to catch
some glimpse of his invisible men.
The Fomor moved on, but now more cautiously. One came upon a form
lying face down, one arm outflung, the other beneath it.
"I found one!" he called into the void. "He looks dead!"
He leaned down over it, gripped the shoulder^ and rolled the figure back.
As it came over he saw the cadaverous face and shouted in surprise, "Why,
it's the Mor—"
But he got no further. For the raven-woman's free arm had shot up, locking
onto his neck with taloned ringers of enormous strength. With one move
she jerked him down toward her while the concealed hand whipped out,
revealing a dagger that slashed up and across the man's exposed throat. His
words were cut off in a gurgling cry. Then there was only silence again in
the drifting haze.
"Nolick? Was that you?" another of the bowmen called.
"I said quiet!" the captain shouted angrily, straining his eyes into the
darkness for any movement.
Inside the mist, another bowman crept along, gripping his weapon tightly in
unsteady hands. This uncanny silence and fog, these strange shadows and
noises were quickly unnerving him. Now every rock, every shadow, seemed
alive.
He heard a noise before him and began to back away, peering ahead for
some sign of what had made it. An arm shot from the swirling gray behind
him, encircled him, jerked him back into the blade of a short dagger. He
slumped.
Gilla Decaire lowered him softly to the ground and wiped the blade on the
Fomor rags. His usually amiable face was hard and held nothing but grim
intent.
As he straightened, he saw another bowman moving some distance away.

Silently he blessed the magic of Findgoll and prayed to Danu the power of
it would last a bit longer.
He straightened fully, drawing up his lanky form to make it fully visible to

the groping Fomor. Then he called out cheer-folly:
"Hello there! Are you looking for me?"
The man jerked around toward him, in his alarm letting off his bolt too
soon.
It went far wide of its mark. Gilla clucked with regret.
"Oh, bad luck," he said. "Care to try again?"
The man slammed another bolt into his weapon and cocked the bow back
again. He started after the taunting clown.
The lean form flitted before him, now here, now there, in the shifting
clouds, like a hare in the underbrush. The bowman's irritation and his
unsteadiness grew.
Gilla, meantime, was on a hunt of his own. Very soon, he saw what he
sought just ahead, the stalking figure of another bowman. Skillfully he led
the first closer until he felt the two must be visible to one another as moving
shapes.
He stood still and upright between them and shouted:
"Say! Here I am!"
As the two men wheeled toward the sound of his voice, bows rising to fire,
he dropped to the ground. Both men fired at the first shadow in the mist
they saw. Each was knocked off his feet by the solid blow of the other's
arrow, Gilla stood up and looked from one of them to the other. They really
are very good shots," he said, and shook his head. "Too bad."
68
DESPERATE MISSIONS
69
By now, the remaining Fomor were near panic. Others of them began to
loose their arrows at anything moving. Shots zipped through the roiling
mist wildly.
Another and then another of the bowmen dropped, his own fellows bolt in
him.
Outside the mist, the captain heard the telltale sound of the bowstrings. One
arrow flew from the cloud and past his head. Then one of his men, mortally
wounded by an arrow through his side, staggered from the bank of mist and
collapsed.
"Stop! Stop firing!" the captain shouted. "You're hitting each other! Stop
where you are. Move toward the sound of my voice. Come out here and
we'll form a line to sweep through. Do you hear?"
There was no sign of movement, no sound from the mist.
"Answer me!" he called louder. "Let me hear you each respond."
Still nothing.
"What's wrong?" A note of desperation had entered his voice. "Neid!
Seanchab!
Ingol! Answer me!"
There was no reply. He stared into the fog, trying to penetrate its mysterious
depths. And he found, suddenly, that it seemed to be giving way before his
gaze. It was rolling back and up as if a wind had risen to push it away. The
spell had run its course. The darkness of Findgoll was dispersing.
He could see figures now. But there were only two. Where were the rest?
The last vestiges of the haze lifted, and he saw at last who the figures were.
It was the gawky clown who stood facing him, grinning. Not far from him
was the grim black Morrigan. And as the captain watched in shock,
Findgoll, Angus, and four other warriors stood up from their hiding spots
amongst the rocks and brush and dead horses.
Then the captain saw his men, scattered about on the ground, dying or dead.
Four lay at Morrigan's feet, throats neatly slit. She bared her teeth, showing
him her thirst had been fully slaked in their hot blood.
"Why you—" he cried out, lifting his own bow to fire at her.
But a sound from behind distracted him and he swung around. He was in
time to see the descending blade of a giant ax before it struck home. Split
nearly to the waist, he was driven to the ground. A groggy but angry Dagda
looked down in grim satisfaction at his work.
"You couldn't have picked a finer moment to come back to life," Gilla told
the giant with enthusiasm.
"Father!" Angus cried happily. "Thank the powers. We thought that you
were dead!"
"Not very likely," the champion growled, planting a broad foot on the
carcass of the officer to help him lever out the deeply embedded weapon.
"They very nearly had us all," said Findgoll with relief. "What were our
losses?"
Angus was moving through the area, checking on the de Danann warriors.
"Twelve of our people are dead," he announced. "Four more are too badly
wounded to go on with us."
"Four left then, and the four of us," said the Dagda, walking down to join
the others. He added as an afterthought, "Oh, and Findgoll."
"It was Findgol! who saved your own son and the rest, you great, hulking
ox!"
the little Druid retorted heatedly. "Your 'strong arms and true blades' did
you little enough good. Don't be forgetting that."
"I will not," said the Dagda, with regret. "And I'm quite certain you'll not be
letting me."
"Can we still go on?" asked Angus. "There are so few of us, and we've no
animals left to carry us."
"There's little choice in that." the Dagda answered. "Those of our escort
who escaped can take the wounded back to Tara, but there'll be no time for
us to return for more horses. We can reach the coast more quickly if we
continue on foot. And once we've brought the cauldron to Eire, we'll have
Lugh and his Riders to help us carry the thing safely back."
"We can make it in time if there's nothing else to interfere," said Gilla in an
unusually thoughtful tone.
"What do you mean?" asked a puzzled Angus. "We can surely be watching
out for any more chance patrols like this one."
"This was no chance patrol," said the Morrigan's rasping voice. "Those men
were hiding in trenches on the hill. Tliey were waiting for us."
'Maybe they were waiting to ambush any de Dananns who came this way,"
Angus suggested.
"No," said Gilla. "Its much worse than that. Look here."
He pulled the masking scarf from the face of one of the dead bowmen. The
others looked down at it.
See there. There's no deformity at all on him. And it's the same with the rest
of them." He looked around at the others. You know what that means."
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DESPERATE MISSIONS
71
"They can't be from the Tower!" Angus said in disbelief.
"Aye. And this is more proof of that," said the Dagda, lifting one of the
strange weapons. It was a short bow fixed at right angles to a metal stock
fitted with a complex mechanism to hold the arrow and release it. "I've seen
these before. They're from the Tower too." He examined an arrow, a short,
thick metal rod trimmed at one end with tapered feathers and at the other
with a sharp, barbed head. "Nasty weapons they are. Like the bloody
Fomor."
"My friends," Cilia said with great solemnity, "we know that Balor would
never send his precious warriors and weapons into Eire just to ambush
anyone who came along. No, only a very, very special purpose could bring
them. He must know what we're about. And, more than that, he knows the
exact route we are taking."
He looked up at the surrounding hills and down through the cleft toward the
open country beyond. Suddenly it didn't seem so inviting to him. It was too
smooth, too lacking in convenient places where they could hide.
"I'm thinking that this isn't the end of it," he said, the carefree tones of the
clown touched with doubt for the first time. "Something has gone wrong.
Very, very wrong. There's no way of telling now what else may be waiting
out there for us."
And as he scanned the countryside again, his eyes turned toward the west.
Was something, he wondered, waiting out there for Lugh as well?
IX
LUGH'S RIDE
LUGH LAMFADA STOOD on the low mound, looking off across the
meadows toward the great hill thrusting up abruptly against the sky.
The hill was steep-sided and rocky, rising almost sheer to a flat, grassy top.
At its base, just before him, were clustered uncountable small, neat mounds,
like the brood of the mother hill nestling for warmth close to its body.
The setting sun struck across the top of the mound in a blaze of golden light
that made the isolated place seem the more separate, aloof and grand, a
fitting spot for some god to dwell and look out over his lands.
Lugh moved back to his tiny fire, built as much for comfort against the
coming night as for cooking or warmth. There was verv little else to raise
his spirits. The Riders of the Sidhe cer-tain'lv offered no companionship,
drawn up like the walls of a palisade around his mound, spears up, silent
and motionless as always when at rest. And his own muscles were no help,
screaming out at him with their pains from the long ride.
How far had he come that day? It still seemed incredible to him- He laid
himself in the most comfortable position he could and unrolled the
parchment map Gilla had given him to trace the route he'd followed.
It may have been wearying, but it had been exhilarating as well. The pace
of the Riders had been breathtaking at first, like standing on a cliff and
catching the full force of a sea storm square in the face. He'd clung on that
plunging horse that had never seemed to touch the ground, and he had been
carried along in the midst of that unnatural company as if he'd been as much
a wraith, a being of streaming cloud, as they.
The country had flowed past, forests, meadows, hills, all blending into a
blurred rush of green-grey. They had covered impossible distances, and he
had seen by the movement of the sun—the only firm object in his cosmos
then—that the time it had taken was very short. In one day they had swung
in a great curve through much of Eire.
The only respite from the dizzying pace had been when a new settlement
was reached. The reception Lugh had received at each had quickly taken on
a monotonous similarity. The folk of the ringfort or hilltop dwelling had
come forth to stare in awe at these mystical beings who had swept upon
them like some great wind. Most of those Lugh had seen were a worn and
hungry lot, but all were still willing to share their meager supplies with a
stranger.
When Lugh had announced his mission to them, their responses had been
the same as well. Bobd Derg had been proven wrong. Manannan had as
well. The de Dananns had needed no urging to fight. Their will had not
been destroyed "y their oppressors. They had been willing, often eager, to
unite behind Nuada, their old warlord. They had been ready to join a rising,
no matter what the cost.
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DESPERATE MISSIONS
73
Ironically, he had sensed that few of them had real hope. They had said they
would fight and likely die because they had nothing more to lose, and dying
in battle was the only dignity left. Still, they had been prepared to march at
once for Tara and this had been enough for Lugh. Only the will to fight
needed to be theirs. With luck, he and his companions would supply them
with the rest.
As he and the Riders had progressed, Lugh had checked each settlement
against his chart. Now he examined the full distance with some awe. They
had swept a vast curve around Eire, north from Tara and then far west to the
sea, turning south to this spot. He had visited more than twenty villages. He
had repeated his plea for help so often that he wasn't surprised at the
soreness of his throat.
He rolled up the map and sat looking across at the hill. The sun had dropped
lower behind it now, lighting only the top in one last, bright flare of parting.
It threw the clustered mounds into deeper shadow and increased the sense
of mystery surrounding them.
He looked over the scores upon scores of them more closely. They looked
like the burial mounds he had seen near Tara, but here there were so many
scattered across the meadows. Hundreds of people would have found
resting places there.
Who had built them? Even the de Dananns didn't know. Their builders had
come and left these time-eroded mounds long before the first of Lugh's
people had come to Eire. And where had they gone? Had they been driven
out or destroyed, as the de Dananns had done to the Firbolgs, as the Fomor
were trying to do to them? He wondered if, when the de Dananns did
succeed in becoming the true masters of Eire, they would, one day, only be
deposed themselves or simply vanish into some mysterious mounds of their
own.
Alone, he felt the spirit of the country strongly there. It was a presence
around him, pervasive and demanding, like the presence of the sea. It was a
harsh and an independent spirit, like that of the people who lived in it. It
inspired love somehow in its rugged beauty, but it gave no compromise. It
would never be held or conquered, only coveted. And he knew, as if he
could see it himself, that many peoples would come and go, would battle
and love and rage and die here. They, all of them, would go one day and be
forgotten, like the rest. And what value would all their struggling and dying
have then?
He realized that his thoughts had turned dark with the dving sun. A sense of
profound loneliness came upon him like a weight. He understood just how
much he missed the company and the support of Aine.
To escape his melancholy turn of mind, he rolled himself in his cloak and
lay down by the fire to sleep. He heard the wind, sharp with the fresh tang
of coming fall, whistle through the drying grass and leaves. He slept, but he
couldn't escape his thoughts. He dreamed of Aine, of her warm body lying
close against his, of the smooth texture of her skin, of her eyes smiling into
his.
But in the dream she turned to a column of ice within his arms. He started
awake to find a dawn of chill, white frost tingeing the grass tips and glinting
on the meadows around, a foretaste of winter's snows. He was stiff and
arose feeling tired, groggy, and still depressed.
But once on the road, his spirits lifted again.
The sun was bright and soon burned off the frost. It was a fine, fresh day
and he was free, really on his own, for the first time. He was doing a fine,
important job, and very capably indeed, he told himself. He actually began
to feel the Champion for once, and really worthy of the responsibility given
him.
Their direction was more southerly now. The settlements they visited were
on the fringes of the de Dananns' western lands. They were scattered and
most were very small. He noted that his company covered more distance
between stops, and that the countryside through which they moved became
increasingly more barren, rocky, harsh.
In the afternoon of the second day, they came out of their supernatural ride
near a good-sized settlement. As usual, the blur of passing scenery began to
slow until things took on a recognizable form. The wail and whoosh of their
movement faded away, and Lugh found that they were on the upper edge of
a wide valley.
The ground was high there, and the view was good. The valley swooped
down gently toward a distant haze of sea. On either side, high hills of a pale
rock rose steeply, shining golden in the afternoon sun.
The lower ground was of the same light rock, and the little vegetation there
was clung tenuously in the narrow crevices that cut through them.
The stone walls of the ringfort were quite near. He had seen many like it in
these last stops, for the country had become
74
quite barren and lacked the soft earth or timber to build ram-parts. Loose
rock, however, was in abundance.
Still, this fort was larger than any he'd seen yet. The wall was twice his
height and looked quite thick. Its circle was large enough to enclose a dozen
homes.
The Riders had drawn up on either side of him just before the main entrance
—doors of heavy wickerwork closing a wide cut in the wall. There was no
one visible about the dun or on the ramparts. A small cattle herd was
browsing in the valley below, but there were no herdsmen.
It wasn't an unusual situation to Lugh. The Riders had often frightened the
weak and naturally suspicious villagers into hiding. He had been forced to
coax them out several times.
He did as he had done then. He rode up to the gateway and stopped at the
edge of the shallow defensive trench that circled the wall.
"Hello!" he called to the fort. "I am from Tara. My name is Lugh Lamfada,
a warrior to Nuada, High-King of the Tuatha de Danann!"
That usually was enough to bring them forth. But here there was no
response.
No curious heads popped above the wall to look. No answering calls were
lifted from inside.
He tried again. "Bres has been deposed. The de Dananns are joining in a
rising against Fomor. I've come to ask you to join in it."
Still there was no answer, no signs of life at all from the ring of stone.
A vague worry began to rise in Lugh. Usually that last bit was enough to
draw the most reluctant out. What was wrong here?
He turned and trotted back to the Riders to issue a brief order.
"I'm going to the gates. Stand here and wait."
There was no need to tell them to keep watch or be prepared. Those things
they always did.
Lugh turned back and rode boldly up toward the gate. He knew that if the
villagers were truly frightened and huddling inside, he might be inviting a
thrown spear with this move.
But there was no spear, no challenge, no sound from inside. He stopped at

the doors and shouted through the wickerwork.
"Hello inside! What's wrong with you? Why don't you answer me?"
DESPERATE MISSIONS
75
When there was still no answer, he tried the gates, very cingerlv at first. He
put a hand against one of the sections and nushed, just a little. The door
swung easily on its wooden nosts, opening half an arm's length. It was not
locked.
He tried to peek through the narrow crack, but he could see only the corner
of two houses and the beaten earth of one side of the yard. No people were
visible.
His puzzlement increased. He dismounted and drew out the Answerer, some
instinct telling him to take no chances here. These villagers might believe
him to be a lying enemy. A trap might await him just inside. So with the
gleaming blade ready in one hand, he pushed the door fully open and
walked through.
Beyond the gateway was a large yard. Beyond it, in a rough semicircle,
were the dwellings. Nowhere was there any sign of
life.
Lugh stood for a time looking searchingly, warily, around the fort's interior.
He saw no movements, heard no tiny sounds. If someone was hiding there,

they were very good at it. The fort seemed totally deserted.
But he would go no further without support. He turned back to the doors

and called to the waiting Riders.
"Come inside! Spread out and circle the yard!"
Immediately they obeyed, gliding forward through the gates, parting inside
and turning in two directions, one column circling left, the other right. They
moved around the inside of the circling wall, one by one dropping off and
taking positions at neat intervals until they were spaced around the entire
yard.
When they had halted, Lugh stepped forward into the center, examining the
dwellings more critically. Most were homes of the familiar circular type
with thatched roofs rising up into sharp cones. But like most of those he'd
seen in these barren western lands, the lower walls were of neatly piled
stones, not wicker and plaster. There were two sheds as well, square
structures with flat roofs, meant for storage of livestock, tools, or food.
One of the structures squatting in the center of the others was much larger.
Its circle was stretched into an oval. It had to be the main hall.
He moved across the yard to it, looking about him constantly, seeking any
sign of the fifty or more people who would inhabit a place this size.
76
He stopped at the doorway to the hall and peered into its shadows. It
seemed empty. He stepped cautiously within and stood, guard up, waiting
for his eyes to adjust.
The interior was one oval room. The earthen floor was scattered with rush
—fresh rush, he judged, by the strong scent of it in the air. The central fire
pit was circled with low tables for eating. Here his wandering gaze fixed
and curiosity pulled him forward. For the tables were set with plates and
food.
He looked at the food more closely. There were bits of bread and cheese,
some scraps of meat, some fish, some vegetables. The bread was stale, but
showed no signs of mold. It had been sitting there less than a day.
He moved around the tables, past the central fire pit. He paused there and
squatted down beside it. Heat was rising from the ash piles. He lifted an
iron spit to stir them. Beneath the grey he found the glowing red of several
coals.
He dug further and uncovered several of the rugged chunks of black peat
still unburned. The fire had been newly laid the night before, he judged.
He walked back to the doorway and paused there, looking around the
compound once again. The total silence was a bit unnerving. In the sunny,
still fall afternoon it was as if the world were holding its breath, as if time
had stopped here. He stepped forward and hit something with his foot. He
looked down to find a rag doll, worn from some child's constant love, its
crude wooden head smiling up at him with a faded mouth of paint. He
reached down for it, then stood to gaze around at the high ridges of the hills,
puzzlement creasing his young face.
Where had they gone? What could have made them abandon this place so
abruptly, leaving belongings, leaving food on their plates, not stopping even
to retrieve a fallen toy?
It couldn't have been some Fomor raid. There would have been signs of the
fight. The Fomor would have left this place a slaughterhouse, bodies
unburied, houses ripped apart.
Had some magic been used on them? Some trick? Some enchantment? Or
were they still here somewhere, hiding?
He wheeled about in a circle, running his gaze over the whole compound
again.
Someone was here. He knew it. He could feel eyes upon him.
"If you're hiding, please come out!" he shouted. "I'm a friend."
That gained him nothing. He shook his head. The eeriness of the place was
bewildering. He had an impulse to leave. He
DESPERATE MISSIONS
77
had no time for such delays in any case. But his stubbornness and vouthful
curiosity kept him there. He had to know what was happening.
Then he remembered the souterrain.
Most of the ringfbrts had them. That hidden underground room where
things could be stored, where inhabitants could hide from enemies. And a
tunnel that led out beyond the walls to some sheltered spot to allow an
escape. There had to be one
here.
The main hall was the likeliest place to look. He went back into it. He set
the doll down carefully on a table where its wide, painted eyes watched him
scrape at the floor rushes with his feet.
He was seeking the covered entrance and he found it quickly. He lifted an

earth-covered square of slate to expose a hole and a crude ladder leading
down to darkness. Lighting a small torch from the fire's embers, he started
down, very slowly, still wary of some trap.
At the bottom of the ladder he stopped, holding the torch up ahead of him.
Its reflected glow ran unevenly away along walls and ceiling lined with
grey-black slate. The flat slabs formed a neat, square tunnel high enough so
he could stand nearly erect.
The air was cool and damp, and the stone glistened with moisture. There
was a strong scent of moist earth and another odor too—one that he couldn't
identify but found familiar, and unpleasantly so. It aroused a sharp fear in
him for the first time, and he found himself suddenly reluctant to force
himself ahead.
But he did move ahead, moving slowly along the tunnel, peering ahead into
the gloom that the torch's light did little to dispel. The passage ran straight
along for some way. Then it abruptly forked. A second passage turned off at
a sharp angle from the first.
He paused at the corner and then eased cautiously around it to look down
the side passage. It was short and seemed to open into some larger space,
some blackness that swallowed the feint rays of his light.
He moved toward it, fighting to control the breathing that increased along
with his rising sense of dread. He came into the opening to the room and
lifted the torch high. It nearly dropped from his hand as he recoiled.
He had found the inhabitants of the ringfort.
78

They were piled neatly, row upon row of them—men, women, children, ail
stacked together like cut wood. Many stared up blankly at the roo£ their
eyes gleaming with false life in the wavering torch light.
He understood what that other odor was now. It was blood. They were
awash with it. It flooded the floor in a great pool that had only begun to dry
around the edges at Lugh's feet.
It seemed to his horrified gaze that all had had their throats neatly slit, like
animals slaughtered in some ritual. They showed no signs of struggle and
few looked afraid. Their frozen expressions were mostly of surprise.
He turned away, sickened by the sight. It wasn't only the dead or the
wounds or the blood. He had seen those in abundance before. It was the
methodical way these poor people had been butchered and piled there,
killed without any chance, without even knowing why.
And then the why of it suddenly hit him like a physical blow. This was no
Fomor raid. They had been killed to get them out of the way quickly, to
make the village seem deserted. And there was only one reason to do that—
to draw him inside.
He ran for the ladder, driven by a single, urgent need. He had to get to the
Riders, get out of that ringfort.
He scrambled up the ladder, threw down the torch, and rushed to the
doorway.
As he reached it, he could see the yard and some of the waiting horsemen.
He raised his voice and shouted to them.
"Riders! Riders!"
He stepped into the yard as they started toward him. But as he did, the earth
shuddered, and all before him seemed to rise up in a searing column of
flame as a massive explosion wracked the interior of the tiny fort.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
INTO THE BURREN
LUGH WAS KNOCKED backward by the force of the blast. He fell

heavily to the floor of the hall and lay stunned. When he finally 79
staggered to his feet, he found that everything beyond the doorway was
trapped in a ring of rising flames.
Within the circle of the stone wall, it formed a solid screen, blocking all
view of the country beyond, arching up above into a dome that obscured the
sky. Where the Riders of the Sidhe had stood, there was no sign of anything
but fire. Lugh assumed they had been caught by the full force of the blast,
enveloped by the flames. The power of it had apparently swept the beings
away.
Whether it had destroyed them or not, he had no way of knowing. But he

couldn't believe that even they could have survived this.
The intense heat was nearly unbearable. His skin felt tightly stretched
across his face. His body and clothes were scorched from the first
explosion, and he realized that only the stout rock walls of the hall had kept
him from being killed.
Several of the structures had survived, he saw, but their end was fast
creeping upon them. Their thatched roofs were all ablaze, forming cones of
fire that sent tight spirals of flame and smoke up to join the thick column
rising above the fort. He looked at the roof of his own shelter. It was clearly
afire, too, the inside surface streaming with smoke and raining burning
splinters upon the room's interior. He knew that he couldn't last long there.
Already the smoke was starting to choke him, crawling deeper into his
lungs at every cough. He dropped down to the floor where some fresh air
was left, but it was rapidly being sucked away by the inferno surrounding
him.
He had nowhere to go, nothing to do. The fire burned on with no sign of
abating, fueled by someone or something he couldn't understand or act
against.
He couldn't break through the wall of it. He was a captive of its circle. And
now the flames above began to swirl. The rising heat had created a
whirlpool in the currents of air. It began to spin faster, faster, pulling up the
fire, drawing in more air and making it burn all the hotter, raising the
temperature in its heart, in its trapped little huddle of doomed huts, to a
height which nothing could survive.
It would not be much longer, Lugh knew. The roof above was ready to
collapse upon him. His bare arms and legs and face were singed in a score
of spots. His cloak smoldered.
He threw a wild, despairing glance around the room, and his gaze was met
by the wide painted eyes of a forlorn, drooping figure, already smoking
itself, but still smiling at him courageously. The little doll. Soon, thought
Lugh, it and he would
80
DESPERATE MISSIONS
join its owner. And he found himself almost envying her quick death over
the one he was about to experience.
But that fatalistic thought took his smoke-numbed mind to another. He saw
the bodies in the souterrain, and he saw that other passage. That passage
might take him out of this stricken fort!
He took a last breath and crawled for the tunne! entrance, dodging the
falling pieces. He was nearly there when a loud, rending crack came from
above. He glanced up to see the whole structure of the roof collapsing. He
dove for the entrance and toppled into the tunnel as the flaming debris
crashed down, burying the interior of the hall.
He dragged himself along the tunnel away from the entrance and got to his
feet. The air here was still fresh, and the heat of the fire raging above much
reduced. A stiff breeze was blowing up the tunnel past him, drawn by the
heat.
That meant the tunnel did open out somewhere ahead. He hesitated no
longer but began to run along the passageway, past the turning where the
bodies lay, for such a distance along the darkened way that it had to be
passing well beyond the outer walls of the ringfort.
It made a sharp curve, and as he rounded it, he saw light ahead. The soft
light of day shimmering along the smooth, damp tunnel walls.
He charged to the tunnel's edge and pushed through a screening wall of

brush to the outside. He found himself far down the valley below the fort,
and he climbed a small slope to look back up toward it. It was lost in fire
and smoke that rose high up in a spinning column toward the clouds. The
Riders were gone, his own horse gone with them. He was on foot in this
barren land and totally alone now.
And then he realized he was not alone.
"Well, mates, it was a good thing we came to check here. I told you he
might be smart enough to find that escape tunnel."
Lugh whirled about to see three figures rise from their hiding places in the
rocks and close in around him. They were Fomor warriors, clad in the filthy
rags of their breed. One was a true horror, his head disfigured like
something of wax that had melted and sagged, carrying eyes down to one
side, dragging over the nose in a thick flow, leaving the mouth slack,
hanging, and constantly adrool. The second was more like something that
had crawled from the sea. It was a Fomor aberrant Lugh had become
familiar with. His eyes popped, fish-like. Folds of skin, like gills, fluttered
on the sides of his neck
81
he breathed. His mouth was tiny and pursed and he seemed lacking in
nostrils, ears, or hair. The short hands that gripped his heavy lance were
webbed.
The third man, and their leader, was normal by comparison. The only flaw
in his crude, swarthy looks was a great leather natch covering one side of
his face. And one of his hands ended in a stump fitted with a heavy iron
cap.
"You are a clever one, you are," the fish-face chortled happily. "I'll go and
get the others now, right?"
He started to turn away, but a sharp word from the leader stopped him.
"Hold on! Why share this prize with them? It was we who thought to come
here.
Think of the prize from that fancy cap'n if we take him to the ship
ourselves!"
"I don't know," the one with the sagging head said in a slow, doubtful voice.
"He might put up a fight. I don't like that sword."
Hearing his words, Lugh realized for the first time since the explosion that
he still held the Answerer in his hand. In all the confusion, his warrior
instincts had seen that he kept a grip upon it. Now, feeling its weight in his
hand, he was aware of the blade's power coursing into him, filling him with
new vitality, pushing out the despair. If these animals weren't going to call
their friends, he had some chance. They had made a mistake that might be
fatal.
"Look, he's just a pup," the leader was reasoning to his friends. "Havin' a
hounds teeth won't do him any good." He looked to Lugh and spoke in what
he must have thought a cajoling voice. "Now, lad, you don't want to be
killed here, do you? We won't harm you. I promise that. Them Fomor
dandies from the Tower said that if you was to be captured, they'd want you
alive. So, be a sensible boy. Drop that sword."
The three started to edge forward, and Lugh waited no longer. He dove
forward, making a lightning attack on the closest first.
His speed took the leader by surprise. He wasn't even able to raise the
sword in his good hand as the bright Answerer swept across his chest, the
razor edge laying him open and slashing the ribs like dried twigs. He fell
back and Lugh's blade reversed its swing, leaping like a coiled serpent's
strike toward the attacking soft-faced one.
He lifted the sword and shield he carried, but it did little good, Lugh's
sword stroke slammed both down, and the point
82
DESPERATE MISSIONS
flicked deftly, lightly, back up, catching the Fomor under the chin and
cleaving the face as if it were wet clay.
The third Fomor, the fish-headed one, stared in terror at his comrades'
sudden end, then heaved his lance wildly at Lugh and turned to run. As he
did, he began to scream shrilly:
"He's here! The boy escaped! Help!"
The being was too far for Lugh to strike at. In a desperate move he cast the
Answerer, hoping to silence the cries. The weapon, fashioned, honed, and
balanced by the magical hands of master smiths in Tir-na-nog, flew
unerringly to its mark. It buried its length in his back, severing the spine.
His voice was cut off and he collapsed in a heap.
Thanking Danu, Lugh ran to the body and wrenched the blade out. But he
had stopped the man too late. There were answering shouts from the valley
around him. He saw many figures rising from positions in the rocky fields
around the blazing fort and starting toward him. There seemed to be scores
of them. Too many to fight. If he meant to survive, his only choice now was
to try to escape.
On this open ground, the only promising hiding spots seemed to be the hills
rising on either side. The scattered Fomor were between him and the
western hills. He turned away and headed toward the east.
He started off at the best speed he could manage on the hard, rugged
ground. A misstep here would mean delay at best, a broken leg at worst.
Fortunately, the same terrain hampered the Fomor, who now spotted him
and started in pursuit.
They were all afoot, as no horses could cross such treacherous fields
without taking a fall. Unfortunately, without large rocks or stands of brush
and trees, those after Lugh could spot him and follow easily. He could only
hope that he could lose them on the hill.
He reached its base far ahead of the pursuers. A backward glance told him
many of the deformed creatures were having hard going here. Those in the
lead were spreading out to prevent him from turning along the hill's base.
His only choice was straight up.
The rough hillside was even tougher going than the valley. The slope was
steep and the rock much decayed by erosion, crumbling out from under
him. He scrambled upward over it, sliding back at times, body scraping
cruelly on the sharper rubble. But the top was in sight, and the Fomor
falling further 83
behind, and he pushed himself to struggle up the last distance to a high

ridge.
He paused there, standing up to look back down. The valley and the sea at
its base were spread out before him now. Far down there, little more than an
elongated speck, an object sat against the shore. As tiny as it was, Lugh
knew it. A black warship of the Tower. He remembered the words of the
Fomor with the patch. Of course Balor's men were behind this attack! Only
they would have the unknown means to engineer the explosion of the fort.
He looked down at the warriors climbing slowly up behind him. He would

be far away before they reached the top, and on this ground they could
never discover which way he had gone.
He turned to face the land beyond the crest. It was a flat, bleak, rippling sea
of grey-white stone as far as he could see. It offered no shelter, no comfort,
and no sign of life. His heart sank again.
Escape he might, he thought, but what did that mean? Where would he go?
What could he do to continue with his mission? He didn't know. He only
knew that for now he simply needed to survive, to keep on. His map was
lost with his food and other clothing, on the horse of the Riders. To the
south and east seemed the most promising to him. With what optimism he
could muster, he set out at a brisk pace across the field of rock.
Far below him, at the black ship, a messenger of the Fomor band arrived
breathless from his run.
The warships captain, sallow-featured, tall, and arrogant, looked down from
the vessel's side at his wretched island cousin and smirked in satisfaction as
he anticipated the report.
"I see our little trap was a success," he said.
"It was, Captain. It wiped them horsemen right away, it did," the messenger
agreed eagerly. Then he hesitated before adding timidly, "But, I'm afraid
I've got to tell you that . . .. ah ... the boy escaped."
The captain's smile was wiped away as by a slap.
^He what!"
He got out of the fort," the messenger went on. "He got up that eastern
hill"—he waved vaguely toward it—"and he's well out into the Burren
now."
You can't let him get away," the captain shouted. "Balor will see you all lose
your lives if he does." He well knew that his 84
DESPERATE MISSIONS
85
own life might be forfeited too. "Your people are supposed to know this
area.
Get after him."
The messenger looked out across the sea to the western horizon. The sun
was dropping toward it now with seeming speed.
"Don't know, Cap'n," he said doubtfully. "It'll be night 'fore too long. Hard
to be trackin' him then."
"We'll see to that," the officer told him curtly. "You just see that he's found,
whatever the cost. He can't escape."
"Oh, there's not much fear o' that," the other said with a shrewd smile. He
looked up toward the stark, forbidding hills. "Even if we don't get him, not
many survive crossin' them Burrens alone, not with what's livin' in there,
they don't. Your lad isn't likely to make it through the night."
The coming of night was not far away when the Dagda's party finally left
the hilly country and moved down from the last valley mouth into the open,
rolling grasslands of the east. Even on foot, the going was easy here. The
hills were low and soft, the terrain a lush, thick fur of grass, ruffled by the
sea breezes. They plowed along through it, Dagda in the lead to break a
wide path, and moved quite rapidly.
Morrigan, as usual, drifted above and ahead, on scout. Gilla strode along,
swinging his long legs, whistling merry tunes. Angus and his father
marched with apparent tirelessness, eager to reach the ocean. Only the little
Druid complained at the pace.
"Is it really necessary to be going so fast?" he asked of no one in particular.

"I thought we were well able to reach the coast soon enough."
"There may be other delays," the Dagda told him tersely. "We may need this
extra time then."
"We may need our strength then too," Findgoll retorted. "And I'll not be
likely to have any."
"You asked to come," the Dagda reminded him. "If your legs are too short,
why don't you use that magic of yours to lengthen them?" He laughed
heartily at his joke, winking at his son.
The little Druid gave him a very hard look at that. He might have made a
caustic reply, but he had no chance. For the Morrigan cut off one of her lazy
sweeps abruptly and dove down toward them. She swooped in to a landing
on one of the giant
hampi°n>s shoulders and began a lengthy series of harsh miawks and

cackles.
The Dagda translated for the rest. 'She says a man is hiding on the hilltop
just ahead."
"Only one?" asked Gilla.
"She saw only one, But she didn't go too close after what happened the last
time."
"Could be a Fomor lookout," said Gilla, "watching for us in case we

escaped their trap above."
"That means there might be larger parties of them nearby," said the Dagda.
"We can't afford to let this one warn them." He patted his ax. "Let's be sure
he doesn't get away."
"Let's divide," Gilla suggested. "You to the left, Angus and I to the right.
Come in behind him."
"What about me?" Findgoll asked.
"Stay with me and stay out of the way," the big man ordered.
They separated and the two parties moved in wide arcs out and around the
low hill far ahead. They crept up toward it through the grass. Morrigan
stayed with the Dagda, riding on his broad shoulder, ready to act if needed.
The Druid moved behind, wishing he could supply more help in such a
situation.
They were close to the hill when it went wrong. Gilla, lifting his head
cautiously from the grass to peer ahead, saw a movement on the hilltop.
Then he saw their quarry rise up from his own hiding spot and lift a long,
tube-shaped device to his eye. It swung around toward Gilla. The clown
saw a glint of something at its end. Before he could duck down it had
pointed directly at him.
The man acted instantly. He leaped to his feet, dropping the tube, and
shouted: "They're here! They're on us!" Then he turned and ran from the
hill.
Beside him, a second man, unseen before, also jumped to his feet to run
after the first.
Across the hill, the Dagda saw them run. The two had to be stopped.
"Get after them, Morrigan," he growled. "Slow them down."
As he and his comrades set out in pursuit, the raven flapped its wings and
flew ahead, skimming the grass tips as she streaked toward the Fomor
scouts.
She caught the trailing runner first, her claws raking his head and neck, the
force of her strike bowling him over. As he fell, she was on him, going
directly for the eyes. He had no
86
chance, and in seconds she left him, blinded and wallowing jQ his blood, as
she started after the second.
But her delay had given the other quite a lead. It would take her longer to
get him, and he was running toward another hil] some distance farther on.
The three other pursuers reached the downed man and paused to dispatch
him.
Angus looked after the other.
"He may get away," he said with concern.
"Morrigan'll catch him," the Dagda said confidently.
"Where's he makin' for?" asked Gilla. "That little hill?"
"Looks like there's some kind of hut on it," said Angus. "Suppose his
friends are there?"
"He won't make it," said the Dagda. "She's nearly on him."
"Wait!" said the clown, pulling to a sudden stop. "That's no hut!" And he
shouted after the others, "No! Don't go on!"
Angus and Findgoll stopped, and then the Dagda, looking back at Gilla in
disbelief
"Are you mad?" the Dagda shouted. "Morrigan may need help!"
The object on the distant hill suddenly gave out a deep-throated, coughing
roar, like some enormous beast abruptly awakened from sleep. This roar
lifted, but quickly settled into a low rumble. Then the thing began to move.
"It's coming toward us!" cried Angus. "What is it? Is it alive?"
It was too far to see any details of its form. It was large and grey, and it
seemed to have legs, but it glided forward, down the slope, moving
smoothly and with increasing speed.
"I don't know what it is, but I don't think it's friendly," Gilla said. "Run.
We'll discuss it later."
There was no argument. All four turned and headed away across the
meadows.
"Angle to the east!" Gilla told the others. "We can't let that thing come
between us and the sea."
They all complied, heading in a long sweep around the advancing unknown.
Morrigan, meanwhile, was still in heated pursuit of the second Fomor scout.
Her attention totally fixed on him, she was unaware of his goal, the thing
that was now on its way toward her.
Unaware, that is, until the approaching rumble of it drew her attention up
and she saw a looming mass of grey descending upon her from the hillside.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
87
She had a quick impression of it—a great object swarming iv-ith Fomor
warriors—and then she was breaking off her attack, wheeling sharply up
and away, expecting to be fired on
But she lifted away safely, soaring up and around to spot her comrades in
full retreat. She looped down to them and glided in beside the Dagda,
chattering noisily at him.
"She says there are men on it," he told the others.
"What is it?" Angus asked.
"She didn't wait to see."
"Something else sent against us by the Tower Fomor, you can be certain,"
Gilla said. "They're very clever, they are."
The fugitives had managed to get past the thing and head on to the east, but
they had lost some distance in doing it. The grey monster was observably
closer now, gliding along through the tall grasses like a ship on a calm sea.
"Let's stand and fight it," the Dagda said angrily, hating to run from
anything.
"We can't risk that," Gilla said. "Our mission is first. We'll simply have to
escape it."
The Dagda eyed him skeptically.
"And how are we to do that? We can't run on forever."
"Only until dark," the clown assured him breezily. "We'll just keep ahead
until dark. Then it won't be able to follow. I'm sure of it." He grinned
around at them all. "Trust me!"
XI
THE SACRED HILL
THROUGHOUT THE AFTERNOON, Lugh Lamfada pushed doggedly

into the heart of the dismal waste of stone, searching for signs of other de
Danann habitations.
He saw some strange formations that had to be man-made. They were

always constructed of enormous slabs of rock set on end to form simple
walls and a flat capstone to form a roof But they were clearly not living
places, and they seemed very old. Seeing the odd structures, thrusting up so
starkly from the flat
88
DESPERATE MISSIONS
89
fields of rock, only served to emphasize how isolated he was in this alien
place.
The only positive aspect of the landscape's emptiness was that it meant the
Fomor had been left far behind. He gained at least a bit of comfort from the
hope that they had been lost for good.
Late in the afternoon, he came to the foot of a high ridge that blocked his
way. To bypass it meant to turn at a right angle to his present course. He
decided to go up.
He found a rough path that zigzagged up the rocky face. It was difficult and
tiring going, with no place to stop and rest until he was two-thirds of the
way to the top. Here there was a wide, flat ledge, and he paused to look
back on the way he'd
come.
The view from this height was magnificent. The land of smooth stone
seemed to tumble away in a downhill flood like a bubbling, swift stream.
The afternoon skies were clearing, as they often did in Eire before the
brilliant gold of sunsets. Only a few fat clouds of luminescent white drifted
lazily, almost hanging still.
There it was again, he thought. The harshness and the beauty of that land
juxtaposed. The wild, rough land that had plagued him through the
afternoon now lifted his heart with its grandness. He could not hate it, no
matter how unhospitable it had been. Part of its own spirit was in him.
He turned to continue his climbing, and it was then he noticed a wider path,
a real path if he was any judge at all. It went off from one side of the little
plateau, running at a slant along the face. It was free of vegetation and
looked as if it were used regularly, but whether by men or animals he
couldn't sav.
Still, it offered more possibility than he had at present, am it was certainly

an easier route. He followed it.
Higher it went, changing to a sort of crude stairway in the rocks, climbing
now right up the rugged face. Though it wu.s much steeper, the many
footholds in the rock made it quite easy for him. He soon found himself
coming onto another flat area, but much larger, and very near the top.
It was a roughly circular area, its back hemmed by a curve of the hill that
rose a bit higher behind it. In the center of this space was a crude ring of
widely spaced, upright stones.
He felt some hope rising in him at this sign of human presence, but it sank
quickly enough when he moved closer to them. The rugged slabs of rock
upended there were well
rounded at their tops, weathered by uncountable years of Eire's rains and

scouring sea winds. Like those strange constructions he had passed, this
ring was the product of hands long turned to the sod of Eire.
Then a vagrant sound came drifting to him. It sounded like the wind, like a
bird s call—or like the voice of a human raised
in song.
Telling himself that was madness, he moved toward the sound. It had come,
he judged, from the topmost part of the hill, above that last rise.
A deeper depression in the flat rock, like another worn path, offered him a
way, leading from the ring right up the incline. He followed it, finally
reaching the highest level.
The hilltop was an enormous plain of its own, stretching far away before it
dropped again to the surrounding sea of rock. It was quite flat, and the
objects that dotted it were sharply outlined by the bright rays of the late sun.
The slanting light threw long, sharp shadows from them, exaggerating their
size and emphatic shape.
Scattered before him were several of the massive structures of stone. One
near him was a neat box formed of five slabs, two at the sides, two across
them for a roof, the last closing one end. "Hie end facing toward the country
spreading out below the hill was open, as if whatever being might have
dwelt or been laid to rest there might have wished to admire it.
He listened again for the scrap of song without success. But he did become
aware of a constant, meandering hum in the air, like the sound of a thousand
softly playing pipers, intertwining a thousand airy tunes, creating an eerie
sort of lamenting harmony. He tried to locate the source of this and
discovered it was all around him, coming from the rocks themselves. The
evening breezes from the sea, much stiffer on this exposed high ground,
were sweeping through the heaps and walls of loose rock, playing their
tunes on the many openings.
He moved ahead, across the high plateau, passing more of the stone
structures and other rings and scores upon scores of strangely shaped rocks
upended in cracks or piled in cairns. Whatever the purpose of all this was,
he knew that this site had been important to some race, or many races, for a
very long time.
Abruptly he stopped again, catching sight of the most striking object in this
peculiar collection. Some distance ahead, on a slightly higher, open spot of
ground, there rose a large,
90
rounded mound. From its high, neat, smoothly formed swell it was clear
that this was no natural formation. Save for the fact that it seemed less worn
by time, it was much like the mounds Lugh had seen before.
But here, thrusting up alone on this high, sacred place, it had an unnatural
aura about it that made him feel all the more strange. And as the late sun
began to lose its fragile fall warmth, he felt the breezes take on a sudden,
unpleasant chill.
This place, he felt, had nothing to do with life. It was all to do with death.
The cold of death would come sweeping across it with the darkness. He did
not want to be here in the darkness.
He turned to make his way back down the hill, but then jerked back. He had
heard that fluttering fragment of song again. This time he knew it was a
human voice. A chant. There were people somewhere up here.
They could be Fomor, of course, but he doubted that. Find-goll had once
told him that the superstitious Eireland Fomor avoided the "haunted" spots.
On the other hand, that same fact might mean it was de Dananns living
here, for often the fugitives from the Fomor used such places to escape the
raiders.
With this idea, he decided to investigate further. The mound itself was the
only likely spot for a hidden camp, so he headed purposefully toward it. His
earlier fear was forgotten. He only wished to do his searching before full
darkness came upon him and he lost his way.
He reached the mound's base as the sun slipped down, leaving only the halo
of its light in the sky, letting the shadows take lordship of the hill. The
sound of the chanting was definite now, though he couldn't discern words.
There seemed to be several voices. They were coming from beyond the
mound.
He eased cautiously around it. He could take no chances, even if these were
de Dananns. On his first meeting with Findgoll, the little Druid—who had
been protecting a hidden de Danann camp—had thought Lugh an enemy
and tried very hard to frighten him to death.
He began to see light behind the mound. The source of the glow came
gradually into view. A large space before the mound was lit by many
torches and a great bonfire. A crowd of people were grouped around this
fire, and Lugh peeped out from the shelter of the hill to have a clear look at
them.
When he got it, he ducked back into the shelter at once, DESPERATE
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heart pumping wildly. For the people gathered there weren't Fomor, but
they were just as certainly not de Dananns.
He decided he had to get away from there before he was seen. He started to
slip cautiously back into the shadows, but a noise behind him brought him
whirling around, his sword rising in defense.
He wasn't quick enough. Something solid descended on his skull and he

dropped heavily to the ground, sinking into a darkness.
In the darkness the two white lights glowed steadily, like the glinting stare
of an unblinking cat.
"So, they won't be able to follow us in the dark?" the Dagda said with heavy
sarcasm. "And just what do you call that?"
The night was fully upon his party now, and they lay panting with their long
exertion atop a low hill, looking back toward the west. A low ridge there
showed, for the most part, as only a darker line against the softer black of a
moonlit sky. Except in one spot. There the twin beams of light made the
grassy meadows as bright as a clear noon day.
For a brief time after nightfall, the exhausted fugitives had believed the
thing pursuing them had been lost, unable to follow their trail in the grasses
without light. Finally they had decided it was safe to pause for a rest upon
the little hill. But then, from the vast silence of the night, the sound that had
plagued them through the long afternoon had arisen again. The distant
thunder of the grey monster had returned.
They had turned in shock to gaze back along their path. At first that distant
rise had been all dark. Soon, however, a glow, like the first showing of a
rising sun, had appeared. It had lifted in a great halo above the rise, and
then the two sharp points of light had winked suddenly into sight. They had
moved swiftly forward across the rise and changed as they came, growing
to form long cones that threw a wide patch of light across the hillside,
making the tall, thick grass glow an intense green against the surrounding
black.
"Are those that monster's eyes?" Angus asked, awed by the unknown
powers of the thing.
"That's no monster," Gilla scoffed. "It's some infernal device of the Fomor
again."
'Then what are those blazing lights?" asked Findgoll. "No powers of mine
could create their like."
I've seen something like it, in my traveling," Gilla mused.
92
"In the eastern lands. A special glass could magnify the light of a single
candle or concentrate a sunbeam to a burning dot!"
"There's no sun now," the Dagda pointed out tersely, "and no candle could
be made to shine like that!"
"True enough," Gilla agreed. "But, remember, the Fonior have the use of
many forces we don't understand."
"The question is, what do we do about it now?" the big warrior said. "With
those lights it can surely follow our path through the night. It seems to me
that we'll have to stand and fight."
"Not so hasty, my Friend," Gilla said soothingly. "We can still escape."
"You said that the last time," the Dagda reminded him.
But Cilia's bright optimism was not to be dulled. "I wasn't wholly wrong.
It's not stopped by the night, but it's clearly slowed. Look there. Even with
those lights it's got to feel the way."
They looked. The thing was moving slowly across the far hillside, the twin
beams sweeping back and forth before it, crisscrossing as it searched for
signs of their passage through the grass.
"You see? While it's feeling its way along, we'll easily be able to get far
ahead of it. By dawn we'll be nearly to the sea and it'll have no chance to
catch up to us."
The confidence the clown exuded did not convince the Dagda. He looked
skeptically at the face smiling amiably at him and thought of a poor half-wit
he had known who never saw ill in anything.
He examined his other companions. They seemed able to continue for a

time, if the pace was slowed. He himself felt strong and Gilla never seemed
to tire, Angus looked weary but able, and Morrigan, who had only changed
back to human form after darkness made it hard for her to see, was fresh.
The little Druid, however, looked near exhaustion, and that gave him some
doubts.
"Seems we've little other choice," he said. "Still, I'd like to find some way
of finishing that beast. Findgoll, haven't you some magic to throw against
it?"
"And if I had, don't you think I'd be using it?" he replied irritably. "I lost the
goods I'd need for that in our first little encounter. My own powers aren't up
to raising any spell that great now."
DESPERATE MISSIONS
93
"I thought as much," said the Dagda heavily, shaking his head. "Useless to
us again."
"As useless as your great ax and your bull's strength," the Druid countered
angrily. "Don't be making those pitying noises over me!"
"And what about your going on, then?" asked the champion. "You look
done in!"
"You never mind my going on!" Findgoll said, climbing to his feet and
facing the big man challengingly. "I'll match my stride to yours on any day.
If we mean to go on, let's do it."
The Dagda eyed the little man facing him like a feisty pup and supressed a
grin. He'd known challenging the Druid's strength would help put new
energy into him.
"Right, then!" he said, getting up himself and looking at Gilla. "We'll follow
your advice once more, clown. But Danu herself won't save you if you're
not right this time!"
"I've always been right before, haven't I?" Gilla asked him, grinning widely.
Then he considered and shrugged. "Well, near enough to right, anyway. Just
trust me!"
He jumped to his feet and started off again, leading the way down the far
side of the hill away from the tracking beast, toward the east as before.
It was smooth ground, and seemingly not dangerous to traverse in the

darkness.
But that fact could help their pursuers to move more quickly too. Still,
Gilla's optimism stayed unbridled, and he encouraged the others in bright
tones.
"We've only got to keep on at our best pace. We'll soon leave that thing far
behind."
However, the smoothness of the ground was deceptive. The flowing waves
of grass concealed its dangers. Findgoll suddenly cried out sharply and
plunged forward, disappearing momentarily into the tall stalks.
Fearing some trap, the others rushed to him. They were reassured to hear
the little Druid cursing fluidly.
He sat up in the grass, grimacing with pain, clutching his left ankle with
both hands.
"Some foolish, bloody mole has carelessly left its burrow hole here open!"
he explained in agony. "I've put my foot in it!"
"You surely have done that!" the Dagda agreed, not too patiently. "Well,
come on then. Get up. We can't be resting any longer with that Fomor
monster about to pounce on us."
94
Findgoll tried to rise but fell back, exclaiming anew with the sharp pains.
"Can't do it," he gasped. "Think I've broken it."
"Oh, by Queen Danu!" the Dagda cried irritably.
He reached down and unceremoniously lifted the protesting Druid like a

child.
Tossing the small man casually across one shoulder, he started off again.
"I told you that you'd only be an extra weight," he reminded the Druid
sardonically.
The lightweight Findgoll didn't have any discernible effect on the giants
speed. He led the way as they started up another low hill. But the Druid
found it far less than satisfying as a way to travel.
"Oh . . . you're . . . going . . . oof. . . too fast!" he said brokenly as he

bounced helplessly against the hard mass of the Dagda's shoulder. "Can't
you
... ow ... jolt , . . a bit . . . less?"

"No complaints from you, or I'll leave you behind," the Dagda told him
firmly.
"Best make a comfortable place for yourself, Findgoll," Gilla advised

cheerfully. "It's going to be a long, long night."
"Aine!" Taillta called urgently to the girl, rousing her from sleep.
The voice cut through her confused and troubling dream of Lugh battling
shadowy figures for his life. She sat up groggily on her bed of skins and
looked into the worried face of her friend.
"What's the matter?" she asked. Then she saw Taillta's expression. Alarm
sharpened her words. "Something's wrong! What is it? Is it Lugh?"
"The Riders of the Sidhe—they've come back alone."
Aine understood at once the gravity of this. The whole existence of the
Riders revolved around Lugh. They would never return without him unless .
..
The awful possibilities drove Aine hurriedly from bed. She slipped on her
tunic, belted her sword about her waist, and grabbed her cloak.
"All right, Taillta, take me to them."
The older woman led the way from the sleeping quarters of the fortress and
into the darkness of Tara's training grounds. It was very quiet, most of the
population asleep. But in the center of the compound a pale light, like a full
autumn moon,
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glowed around the double column of the Riders of the Sidhe and
illuminated the small group of de Dananns standing beside
As the two women approached, High-King Nuada moved from this group
to meet them, his expression drawn with concern .
"I am glad to see you, he said with evident relief leading them to the Riders.
"They appeared here suddenly from nowhere a short while ago. We've tried
to communicate with them, but they won't speak." He shook his head in
perplexity. "They just sit there like graven images and take no note of us.
Even the Druids have had no success."
They stopped at the head of the column, looking up toward the tall, staring
figures. Only one of the two lead horses was occupied. The other was the
riderless white mount meant for
"That riderless horse was an ominous sign," said Nuada. "But we hoped that
you, as one of Lugh's friends, might have the magic of these beings and be
able to speak with them."
"You are right, Nuada," Aine told him. "I'll find out what's happened."
She steppd toward the lead figure, lifted a hand to rest on the being's arm.
The odd aura of light, flooded from him to encompass her as well. The
mystical warrior inclined his head and dropped his sparkling gaze to meet
hers.
"Something has happened to Lugh?" she asked.
He nodded.
"Is he dead?"
From the gleaming eyes an image seemed to flash down and fill her mind.
She saw Lugh entering the stone hut of an empty village and saw an
explosion of flame that devoured everything instantly.
She cringed inwardly at the image, but then another came, of blasted ruins,
of debris, but no charred bodies.
"You returned to the place after the fire and Lugh was gone," she said.
Another nod.
She turned to the others with some relief.
"He doesn't know if Lugh is dead. The Riders were temporarily dispersed
by some kind of powerful force at a village far to the west, in a rocky,
desolate place near the sea."
"The Burren," Taillta said.
"When the Riders were able to re-form and returned, they 96
could find no sign of Lugh's body in the burned ruins," Aine continued. "He
may have escaped. But without him to command them, there was nothing
else for them to do but return here."
"But what happened?" asked Nuada. "Who attacked them?"
"They don't know. The attack was a surprise."
Bobd Derg moved forward from the group to confront Nuada.
"So, High-King, already your little missions have come to an end." His
grim words were tinged with satisfaction.
"They are not at an end," came Nuada's sharp retort.
"Of course they are. Don't you see what this means? The Fomor must have
done this. And they must have had help from the Tower of Glass."
"We don't know that."
"Come now, Nuada. Who else would have the power to attack these beings
successfully?"
"He is right," agreed High-Druid Meglin. "The Eireland Fomor could not do
it alone."
"You would love to spread that idea through our people, wouldn't you,
Bobd Derg?" the High-King accused. "It would surely help you convince
them to flee Eire."
"Why not?" the other challenged. "There's no chance for Lugh's mission to
be completed now. We'll have too few warriors to face Bres even if this
supposed magic cauldron does arrive to strengthen them."
Aine had been considering the situation during their argument. Now she
made her decision.
"Can you show me where this happened?" she asked the leader of the
horsemen.
The head nodded again.
"All right. Then we'll go now." She moved to the riderless horse, gripped its
reins, and pulled herself lightly onto its back. The horse gave no sign of
protest.
Nuada did. "Hold on! What is it you're planning to do?"
"I'm going to find out if Lugh is alive," she said. She hesitated, then went
on firmly. "If he is not, then I will complete his mission myself"
"I agree that someone must go," he said, "but why you?"
"Because, High-King, I am the only other one here who can command these
Riders. With them, I can sweep through Eire before the night is ended if I
must. But, more than that, I'm
DESPERATE MISSIONS
97
because Lugh's success, his mission, his life, are as much responsibility as
his. Nothing will keep me from it any-1 All right," Nuada said, not really
understanding her need to act but feeling the emotion that drove her. "Then
the Powers of Danu go with you."
"I hope so," Aine said sincerely.
"Wait, Aine. I'm going as well," Taillta said with force. "I know those lands.
I can help you. And I'll not be left behind again either. Lugh means as much
to me."
Aine saw the plea in the woman's face. She understood. She put out a hand.
"Join me then. The great white horse can carry us both."
She pulled the other woman up behind her. Without further delay she lifted
a hand to gesture sharply forward and gave a curt command to the Riders.
At once the company lifted and swept away, a river of flowing silver in the
moonlight, gliding out of the fortress and into the blackness of the sleeping
countryside.
Once they had gone, Nuada turned his attention back to Bobd Derg.
"You will speak no more of this!" he commanded the bard. "Two days only
have passed. There's no reason yet for you to be composing poems of
defeat. No one but ourselves shall know of this, or the speaker will face my
wrath!" He glared around him to take in the others in the group as well.
"We've made a bond to wait, and we will wait!"
From the shelter of a corner of the tiall, Ruadan watched these events
carefully. He had returned to Tara to learn if the Fomor plans were
succeeding. But these events were troubling to him. The deep shadows
masked the grim expression that hardened the look of his innocent young
face.
Astride the powerful horse 'that now flew across the darkened earth amidst
the Riders, Aine spoke urgently to her companion.
"We must move quickly to find him, Taillta. My heart and my mind tell me
he's alive. But I also feel he's in danger he can't survive alone."
She turned to meet the older woman's eyes, her own filled with anguish.
"Oh, Taillta, if he dies alone, it'll be because we sent him out so coldly to it.
I don't think I could bear that."
You're speaking nonsense," Taillta assured her. "Lugh did 98
what he wanted to do. And he's not going to die. He's too strong and too
clever. We'll find him. We just have to keep our heads."
She spoke with confidence to bolster the girl, but she felt grave fears
herself. She knew the Bun-en lands. She knew them well. She would find it
a miracle indeed if their young warrior really was still alive.
XII
THE SACRIFICE
LUGH WAS ALIVE, but he was wondering how long he would remain so.
He had awakened to find himself surrounded by hundreds of grinning

skulls.
Many were piled in mounds. Some sat in the niches of small structures of
rock.
And some two dozen crowned waist-high columns of stone set upright in a
circle around him.
This collection place of skulls was in the smooth area before an entrance to
the giant mound. A square opening into the pile of earth was framed by
massive stones carved with crude spirals and interwoven curves, Even
larger stones with similar carving set off the outer limits of the sacred space
and its massed death heads. There was something about those carvings he
found familiar, but he couldn't focus on exactly what it was. He was rather
distracted.
For not all the faces staring at him now were of the dead. There were quite a
number of living ones gathered as well. The large bonfire near Lugh in the
center of the ring and the many flaring torches revealed them quite clearly.
In fact, they were rather more clear than Lugh really felt necessary. For the
appearance of the group that surrounded him brought very little nope or
comfort to his mind.
He'd never seen men like them yet in Eire. They were much shorter than the
de Dananns, but this was more than compensated for by their thick and
powerful builds. Massive shoulders, arms, and legs were more like those of
bulls than DESPERATE MISSIONS
99
men, some even worthy of comparison with the Dagda's frame. Yet they
were certainly not Fomor, having no physical deformities, at least so far as
Lugh could see. They were all heavily clothed in tunics and trousers of
animal skins, and their wide faces were largely masked by long, wavy
masses of dark hair and beard.
There were more than fifty of them, he estimated, all heavily armed with
axes, spears, swords, and shields, but of a much cruder make than those of
the skilled de Dananns. Still, they looked just as effective for all that.
The warriors formed a solid circle, all well outside the ring of standing
stones, watching him curiously, warily, and silently.
Lugh shifted uneasily within the tight leather thongs that bound him to the
tall pillar of stone. He had no idea why he was here. He had the impression,
as he met the stolid gazes of the encircling men, that it was not for anything
pleasant. He had tried several times to speak to them, to ask them who they
were and what they wanted. He had met only silence and the dark, chill
looks.
He hadn't long to wait to discover what they meant for him, however. For
soon after his awakening, several of the warriors took up tiompan—large
hoops of wood stretched over with tanned hide—and began to beat upon
them witl. pieces of carved bone. To the slow, hollow, rhythmic tones, a
group of figures emerged from the entrance to the mound and strode in
ceremonial pride toward the stone ring.
There were four figures in the group, and two of them seized the young
warrior's attention at once. For they were young women of large and sturdy
but well-structured frame, this last point made quite obvious by the fact that
even in the chill night, they wore no clothes at all.
Yet their bodies were not uncovered, for every bit of their flesh was covered
with elaborate tatoos that colored their skin a deep blue. The detailed
designs of stylized animals, serpents, and birds flowed and intertwined in
graceful curves along their limbs, across the rounded curves of their supple
forms. Even in his dangerous situation, Lugh found himself quite intrigued,
and examined the fine artistry very carefully.
But then his attention was drawn to the two male figures that followed the
women out.
First came a man he guessed was the tribal Druid or shaman. He was
shorter and much stouter than the rest, moving with a rolling sort of stride
like the waddle of a rather obese
100
goose. His shape was exaggerated to near ridiculous size by the massive
cloak of bird feathers that almost engulfed him. Hjs head, with its round
pink face, flowing white hair and beard seemed like a decoration set upon
this moving mound.
The last man to emerge was a warrior, the largest and the thickest of the lot.
Once he might have been the most powerful as well, but he was now
running toward fat and he was getting old. Lugh guessed he hadn't many
years of fighting life left to him. But for now he appeared to be the chieftain
of this clan. He wore an elaborate gold tore at his throat, and the hilts of his
sword were banded in silver and set with rough-cut jewels. Moreover, he
had that arrogant stride of a long-time and long-assured leader.
The two women led the way past the ring of stones into the circle, stopping
on either side of Lugh. The feathered shaman moved boldly forward, as
well, to stop just before the bound warrior. But the chieftain stopped outside
the ring, joining his warriors to look into the sacred space.
The man before Lugh eyed him gravely. Lugh tried to smile his most
ingratiating smile and spoke with as much warmth as he could raise.
"Hello, there. You seem an intelligent man. I want you to know that I'm not
here to harm you. I'm not your enemy."
Not a flicker of emotion indicated that the man had even heard. He turned
away from Lugh and the two women moved up on either side, raising
objects that they carried in offering to him.
"Look, I'm just a lone warrior," Lugh persisted, a little more urgently. "I'm a
messenger . . . from Tara . . . from the High-King himself."
That had no greater impact on any of them. The shaman took from one
woman a small cop of beaten bronze. The other held out a short, wide
dagger, but he shook his head and she stepped back.
"I'm all alone and lost," said Lugh. "I really could use some help."
The shaman turned back toward Lugh, the cup in one hand. The other hand,
so for concealed beneath the bulky cloak, now lifted into view. It held the
Answerer in its scabbard.
"I don't know what you want, but I'm not your enemy," said Lugh, trying to
keep the desperation from his voice. He told himself a real hero would
never show his fear. "I'm on a mission
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101
help Eire. I'm raising the de Dananns to war against the Fomor. You know
the Fomor? The raiders?"
But Lugh might as well have been talking to himself for all the response his
words drew. The beat of the tiompan became more intense and, as it did, the
shaman turned the Answerer point down, letting the sheath slide off to
reveal the gleaming
Lugh watched this ritual with growing alarm. He began to throw his weight
against the binding with greater force.
"What are you doing?" he demanded. "Let me free! I've done nothing to
you!"
The shaman looked into Lughs eyes directly tor the nrst time.
"It'll do you no good, struggling," he said in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Please, lad, be calm. It will go much easier for you." Startled by the voice,
Lugh did cease his struggles to stare at the old man.
"So, you do speak!" he said. "I was beginning to believe you didn't
understand me."
Faint puzzlement drew deep creases around the shamans eyes. "And why
would I not? You know that both our languages are one."
"I don't know anything about you!" Lugh protested. "I don't know why
you're doing this to me."
"It's a great honor, really," the old magician said with an attempt at cheer.
"You'll be the instrument in my foretelling the future for our tribe!" But his
tone became more dismal as he added, "Of course, you'll not survive the
ritual."
"Not survive?" said Lugh, understandably taken aback by this. "Why not?
What are you going to do?"
The old man shook his head. "You're better off not to know."
He lifted the Answerer and slowly began to pour the thick red-gold liquid
from the cup along the edge of the blade. It clung to the metal, tingeing it
like blood in the firelight. As he began, the tempo of the drums increased
again.
The two women began a sinuous dance, moving slowly about the circle in
opposite directions to the rhythm.
"I want to know," Lugh insisted courageously. "If I'm going to be killed,
you have to tell me how."
The old shaman sighed. "Very well," he said heavily, continuing carefully to
pour the liquid all along the edge. "I will
102
read the omens of the future in your convulsions and the spurting of your
blood as you die." He looked up toward the young prisoner, seeing the
dismay in his eyes. "You see? You didn't really want to know."
"Go on," Lugh asked stoutly.
The magician carefully set down the empty cup and held the Answerer out
in both hands. He moved toward Lugh, the keen point of the weapon
forward.
Lifting it, he touched Lugh on the belly lightly.
"The blade must be inserted with proper care, to make it certain you'll die
most slowly and in greatest agony." He moved the blade to touch the
warrior's forehead and, finally, his lips. Lugh tasted the liquid. It was a
sweet honey-mead. Its pleasant flavor was a sharp contrast to the harshness
of the shamans words, though they were cloaked with the old man's obvious
regret.
"Sorry, lad," he said, backing away again. "It wasn't my wish that this be
done to you."
"Shaman!" the chieftain called gruffly. "Why is it you're speaking to him?

Get on with the rite."
"Why?" Lugh asked once more. "I told you I'm no enemy to you. I don't
even know you. Why are you going to do this to me?"
"You are a de Danann," came the chieftains curt reply. "That is enough."
Now it was the old magicians turn to protest. He turned to look at the
chieftain, asking plaintively: "Sreng, must this be done? He is so young,
and he's done us no harm."
"This has been decided, old one," the chieftain told the old man with
impatience. "Do as I command, quickly, and with no more talk."
Wearily, sorrowfully, the aging shaman turned his gaze back toward Lugh.
"Please!" Lugh appealed to him. "You at least have to tell me why I'm going
to die."
Lugh could see the anguish in the old man's eyes, but he didn't speak again.
Clearly he had no choice but to obey the cruel warlord. He lifted the sword
aloft in both hands, closed his eyes, dropped his head back, and muttered an
incantation to the skies.
The rhythm of the drums rose to a driving height, making a nearly

continuous roll of thunder. The dance of the two women grew wilder, more
abandoned, more sensuous, as they worked
DESPERATE MISSIONS
103
,1 e,,iselves into a frenzied state, their tatooed bodies glisten-. _. vVjth
sweat in the cool air, weaving closer about the fire and t^e bound victim.
Then the drums stopped suddenly. The women, very near to Lueh nOW'
leaPed to his sides, each seizing a bound arm to hold him tightly. Their
strength in the height of their ritual fervor was tremendous, and he found
himself unable to move.
The shaman opened his eyes and slowly lowered his gaze to meet Lughs.
He brought the Answerer down and held it before him. He started toward
the young warrior, bringing the point of the slender blade against his belly
again.
"By every power," Lugh shouted at the circling warriors, "you can't kill me
without telling me why!"
"You sound a madman, surely, not to know," the chieftain said. "After your
people defeated us, took our lands, and drove us into the wilds to live like
animals, you don't know why you are our enemy? No more lies before you
die.
Show us whether the de Dananns have the courage to die without

complaint."
At these words, Lugh's mind began to work furiously. They recalled to him
the tales he had been told of the de Dananns first coming to Eire and their
battles to take control. He looked around at the squat, dark warriors. He
looked up at the carvings on the portal stones and understood why they
seemed so familiar to him.
"You are the Firbolgs!" he cried.
The point of the sword began to press inward as the shaman began to apply
weight. A bit more and it would penetrate.
"Wait!" said Lugh urgently. "Listen to me! I was raised by Firbolgs. My

foster mother was Taillta, daughter of MacErc!"
The pressure eased. Astounded by this news, the aging magician looked
back toward his chie£ his expression questioning-
"He lies," Sreng said heatedly. "On with the sacrifice!"
"No!" Lugh cried. "Look at my brooch. Taillta gave it to me years ago. She
called it her clan sign!"
The shaman released one hand from the sword and lifted it to pull back
Lugh's heavy cloak, revealing the large ornament that fastened the garment
at his throat. It was a spiral of copper, its pin a dagger-shaped line piercing
the center. It was a match for the central carving on the top portal stone.
"I know this piece," said the old shaman. "MacErc himself wore it. It is his
clan sign."
"It proves nothing," Sreng retorted. "MacErc is dead. His 104
daughter and his clan disappeared long ago. Massacred by the de Dananns,
most likely, and this boy's ornament was stolen from our dead."
The shaman turned completely away from Lugh to face his chief now,
lowering the sword.
"This boy wears the symbol of a Firbolg clan. It gives him protection from
harm by any of us. It is not for us to question where it came from, only to
obey our own rules."
"This is a de Danann!" the chieftain cried. "Our tribal laws aren't to protect
the likes of him."
The warriors around the circle, bewildered by this strange turn of events,
were shaken from their ritual silence and now muttered amongst
themselves.
There seemed some disagreement in their views, and the voices began to
grow louder in dispute.
"I was always against sacrificing him, Sreng," the shaman admitted boldly.
"And now I know that I was right. To destroy one who is under protection
of our laws would be to bring tht-wrath of every power upon us. I thank
them that we were saved in time!"
His voice was rising, booming dramatically across the silent barren hilltop
with a vitality that surprised Lugh. He realizt L the old man was fighting
desperately to convince the Firbolj'; to let him go, using superstition as his
only weapon.
It seemed to have some effect. He heard supporting shoui from the warriors.
But the battle-hardened Sreng was not to IK convinced so easily by threats

of mystic retribution.
"You'll not frighten us that way, magician," he countered trying to restore

courage to his men. "You only mean to save him. Nothing will happen."
"Are you so certain, Sreng?" the shaman asked. "There is ;. power in this
boy.
I felt it from the start. If you doubt that, looi upon this sword!"
He held the Answerer aloft. It caught the fire and gleam* t. with an intense
golden light. All felt the tremor of the fon i-coursing within it.
"Perhaps you are right," the old man told his chieftain wi:! final cunning,
"but do you really wish to risk destruction of our whole tribe, of all of us,
just to see the end of one lost boy?"
Sreng saw the worried looks passing amongst his men. He knew the hold
that the superstitions had on them. They were afraid now, and to disregard it
would be to invite rebellion. That the wily veteran could not have.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
105
"Release him," he said tersely.
Quickly the shaman used the Answerer to cut Lugh's bonds. He picked up
the scabbard and handed both to the young war-
"Here," he said. "Fortune has saved you. I am glad of it. Now leave this
place."
"I can't," Lugh said. "I need your help."
He stepped past the shaman and addressed the warriors.
"I'm afoot in this wilderness. I'm lost. I must complete my mission or the
Fomor will destroy the de Dananns. Please help me. Join me. Lead me from
here."
"The brooch has saved your life," the cheiftain growled darkly, "but only
this time. No one believes your lie. You are no Firbolg. You are de Danann.
Listen to the shaman and leave our sacred place, and pray to your gods we
never meet again."
The old man moved up close behind Lugh, murmuring urgently: "You must
go. And quickly. If Sreng has his way, they may yet change their minds.
Run from this place. Run now!"
Lugh realized the truth in what he said, seeing the hostility in the encircling
eyes. Without another word he walked from the ring. The warriors parted to
let him through and he strode into the shadows beyond the fire's light. No
one moved to stop him.
He made his way back toward the pathway that had brought him to this
hilltop, planning to climb down and be away quickly in case their minds
should change.
He passed the scattered stones and rings, looming shadows in the night, and
reached the lower plateau above the steeper drop to the countryside
spreading out below. But as he moved to the edge and looked downward, he
received a shock of surprise.
An uneven row of lights—more than fifty he guessed— stretched across the
ground along the base of the hill.
As he watched, the line crawled nearer, and in the reflected glow of the
strange lights, he finally understood what he was seeing. A large band of
Fomor were moving across the Burren, searching the ground before them
with the aid of a miraculous device each one carried. It was a small box
from which a circle of yellow light projected a powerful beam that lit the
ground before it for some distance. Clearly, more of the Tower's marvels
had been supplied to let the hunt for him continue even in the darkness.
106
Wearily, desperately, He turned away and moved along the hill's edge,
cutting down and across die slope to head away from the Fomor and into
the desolate Burren once again.
XIII
STALKED
THE NIGHT WAS becoming a very long one for Lugh.
The moon rose and lit his way, as he plodded on through the empty lands,
but it only served to emphasize how treacherous the ground he crossed was.
The white light made the weather-smoothed surfaces of rock glow palely,
and threw the many rifts into deeper shadow so the whole vast plain before
him looked like a rolling sea of deep troughs and foamy peaks.
Since leaving the Firbolgs, his desperation had slowly increased. He had
moved as rapidly as he could to keep ahead of the Fomor, trailing
somewhere behind him in the darkness. He had to keep going in hopes of
finding some help, some way of continuing his mission. But he couldn't
ignore the fact that he had no idea which way help might be.
Never before had he felt so alone. Even the Riders had given him some
sense of company. But in this alien place, he felt removed from all help, all
warmth, all life. He looked around him at the hostile landscape. He
wondered if any other life even existed out here.
As if in answer to him, a shadow flitted across a distant spot of moonlit

rock.
It was too far for him to detect its shape, but from its speed he guessed it
was a hare. The thought of that reminded him how hungry he was, and he
longed to stop and set a snare. But that was impossible.
He caught another movement, off to one side, and peered out toward it.
Another rabbit? He watched, and then he saw the thing again, slipping
across a brighter spot and back into the shadows.
He saw enough this time to make him begin to watch more closely. That
thing had been no rabbit. He scanned the
DESPERATE MISSIONS
107
• mbled landscape as he went on, waiting to catch another look When he

did, his hand went to his sword hilt and gripped it rightly. The shadow he'd
seen was as large as that of a man. But it was no man. It was too low to the
ground and moved with too much speed. Even more disturbing was the fact
that the thing seemed to be keeping pace with him.
There was nothing to do about it but to keep on. But he'd gone only a little
farther when a movement on his other side caught his eye. He watched
there and again saw a slinking
Was it the same beast, or another? Soon that was answered too. The
shadows began to show themselves more boldly, crossing the spots of light,
even pausing in them as if to let him know that they were there.
There were several of them, he could see now. They were on all sides of
him, moving with him. And they were gradually, carefully closing in.
One of them paused upon a higher rock, fully exposed under the glowing
moon.
He recognized the sinewy, gaunt form, the massive head, the glinting fangs
in the smiling mouth. He knew it was a pack of cunning, deadly wolves that
stalked him.
He kept panic in check by an effort of will. Wolves, unless starving, weren't

really eager for a fight. They wouldn't attack him unless they felt confident
of an easy victim. All he had to do was keep moving on, calmly, steadily,
showing them no fear.
He tried to ignore the shadows as he went on. He couldn't let the presence
of them force him to run. That would trigger an attack. For a time it seemed
his reasoning was right. He went on for some way with the wolves
escorting him and making no moves to close farther in.
Then, suddenly, they stopped.
He realized this when he saw the forms of three wolves standing in full
view not far ahead, blocking his path.
He pulled up and, very, very cautiously, turned to look around him. On all
sides were the other forms of wolves, all standing ready, creating a full ring.
He understood now why they had decided to challenge him. From the first
half-dozen he had noted, their numbers had swelled to around a score. To
such a company, a single victim, even a dangerous human one, was no real
threat.
They began to creep in, all at once, as if some silent com-108
DESPERATE MISSIONS
109
mand had gone out. They would come from all sides, him no chance,
dragging him down. He could hear the ow growl from the many throats. He
could see the glinting circle of their eyes, like stones in a necklace.
He drew the Answerer from its sheath. The gleaming blade surprised them,
stopped them. Some shied back in fear. But the effect was only momentary.
They had faced warriors before, and this one was alone, despite his strange
weapon.
Once more they began to close in.
Lugh knew that to stay in their ring would be fatal. Some way ahead he saw
a larger standing rock. He waited no longer. Swinging the sword around
him to drive the pack back, he charged through one side of their ring. One
wolf ducked away. Another leaped toward him and then crumpled as the
weapon sliced through its neck. A back swing severed the front paw ofa
third who had ducked in for Lughs ankle, and it yowled its pain. Then he
was out of the ring and leaping recklessly over the uneven rocks.
His attack had taken the animals by surprise. In the moments it took for
them to react, he had gained a slight lead in his race for that stone.
He didn't pause or look around. He could hear the sounds of his pursuers
close behind. With every stride he expected a heavy body to crash against
his back and teeth to fasten in his neck or leg.
But he reached the upright stone ahead of them, whirling at bay there to
face the snarling pack. Now, back to the stone, he could swing the
Answerer before him and hold them off.
It was a wild and desperate battle he fought for his life against the blood-
maddened pack. They all seemed to be upon him at once, like a single beast
with a score of snapping heads, several always driving in as he swept the
blade constantly to force them back, to ward off the ripping teeth.
One of them managed to slip beneath his guard to fasten its jaws on his
ankle.
He staggered and dropped down and several more were on him. He was
certain that he was finished, but he used his fists, his feet, even his teeth, in
a grappling, clawing struggle to wrench himself free. He heaved up,
throwing them off, the great sword wheeling in glowing arcs that cleared a
space before him again.
He threw himself back against the rock and faced them, panting hard,
looking into that half circle of baleful eyes and glinting teeth. Although
three more of them were down, those
left seemed little inclined to end the fight. He was getting aker njs sword
arm aching from the constant effort. He was torn in a dozen places,
streaming with his own blood. Once more and they would have him. He
knew it.
Still, as they started in again, he raised his weapon, determined to keep at it

until the last, take every one of them he could- In a snarling wave they
struck him together, jaws going for the legs to pull him down, for the sword
arm, for the vulnerable face and neck.
Then something plunged downward upon the mass from above, landed
between him and the pack and brought them down in a sprawling pile.
Surprised, Lugh pulled back against the rock, staring in bewilderment at

this unexpected addition to the fray. He peered intently into the mass
convulsing before him in the moonlight, trying to see what was happening.
It seemed a tangled pile of legs and tails and teeth, a noisy brawl,
punctuated by snarls and occasional howls of pain.
He couldn't tell what it was that had plunged into their midst, but it was
certainly large, and it was some kind of beast. At first the battle seemed
equal. The wolves were smaller but far outnumbered it and were relentless
in their savage attack. Then one was tossed from the writhing mass, falling
heavily to the ground with a sharp yelp. It rose and quit the fight. Another
was caught in the thing's enormous jaws and a quick shake broke its neck. It
dropped, lifeless. The claws and teeth of the unknown beast seemed
everywhere at once. It moved with a speed even the wolves couldn't match.
Another wolf was tossed away and slunk off, limping. A fourth staggered
away with its bowels trailing and fell. Then, in a body, the pack gave it up.
They broke away suddenly and scattered, speeding away into the night,
leaving their vanquisher and the battered Lugh alone.
Now it occurred to Lugh to wonder what was next. Had he been rescued, or
had this beast only saved him for itself? He lifted his weapon defensively
and looked at the figure standing there, revealed clearly under the moon.
It was in some respects quite like a dog itself, he thought, or perhaps a cat.
It was, in either case, quite furry. Its body was long and slim and sinewy, its
neck muscled and as thick as a ponys. The enormous feet were clawed, or
were those a bird's talons? He couldn't be sure. The whole animal was too
confusing. But he could be sure of the large and deadly teeth, for 110
the beast seemed to grin at him with a wide mouth that split a long, square
nose.
It stepped toward him, its movements lithe and graceful, a long cordlike tail
whipping nervously behind it. The huge mouth parted, the lips curling back
from the front tearing fangs. Lugh readied for its spring as it crouched
down.
"You look nearly done in, you do," it said in a soft and sympathetic voice.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
He lowered his sword, flabbergasted by the voice.
"You talk?" he asked it, not believing he had really heard.
"It's certain that I do, for you must have understood it yourself, young
fellow," it answered, clearly amused by its effect on him.
Suddenly drained of all his energy, Lugh sank down against the rock. "Well,
whatever you are, I've no strength to fight you," he said. "So I hope it is the
truth you're telling me."
"It's a great many things I've been, but never a liar," it told him sincerely,
dropping down on its haunches, like a hound. "It's the Pooka I'm called."
"Pooka?" Lugh repeated vaguely.
"Ah, you've never heard tell of me?" it said, sounding a bit disappointed. "I
thought the tales of the Pooka were told about every fire in the west of
Eire."
"I'm new to Eire," Lugh explained- "And new to the west."
"That explains it then," the beast said, brightening. "But I should have
known you were new here, to be wandering on the Burren alone, and in the
night."
"I'm lost," Lugh said. "And I'm being hunted—chased—by the Fomor"
"The Fomor, is it?" the thing said, interested. "You have got yourself in a
mess then, haven't you?"
"I've got to keep going," Lugh said. "Can't delay anymore." He pushed
himself to his feet again. He was unsteady, weak from fatigue and hunger
and loss of blood. He felt groggy.
"You'll not go far in your state," the Pooka said. "You need a bit of rest.
Come with me, now. I know a safe place where you can go. I'll even carry
you there."
"Carry me?" Lugh said. "How will you do that?"
"Like this," it said.
j
Lugh decided he must be weaker than he thought. His vision was failing
him.
The figure in the dark seemed to be growing soft, swelling, bulging,

wavering, in peculiar ways and growing larger.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
111
There!" the Pooka announced with satisfaction. "Climb Lugh found himself
looking at a tall, sleek horse!
"How . . • how did you do that?" he asked in wonder.
"I'll tell you later. Come on now, get on, before your Fomor friends catch up
to you."
He went to the animal, too weary and too weak to argue. With an effort he
pulled himself onto its broad back and sank forward, head against the neck,
arms encircling it.
"Hold tight," the animal advised and started of£ trotting as gently as it could
across the moonlit waves of stone.
It made its way toward the south, and after a time the nature of the land
began to change. They were coming out of the Burren, into a country where
more trees grew and the rocky ground turned to meadows.
The magical horse came at last to a large grove of trees and found its way
into the thick growth along a nearly invisible path. It wound past the
massive trunks of great gnarled oaks to a small clearing hidden deep within.
When it stopped, the exhausted young man, now nearly unconscious from
his loss of blood, slid down from its back. He tried to stand, but the effort
was too much. He sank down on the earth and fell at once into a heavy
sleep.
Predawn mists clung thickly around the hilltops and above the tiny lake.
They slowed the progress of the line of Firbolg warriors who were making
their way from the sacred hill back toward their home. They had completed
their ritual with a sacrificial bull to replace Lugh. Now they wanted only the
comfort of a meal, the warmth of their own fires.
Home was a short distance ahead of them. Across a last plain was the lake
and the small island fortress they had built of woven saplings. Their
crannog.
But as they came in sight of the structures looming up as dark shapes in the
grey, they stopped in alarm. For between them and their home sat a line of
glowing silver horsemen.
The Firbolgs bunched together, weapons coming up defensively. Their

concern was for their families behind the walls. Their superstitious fears
were fired by the strange appearance of the grim, shining warriors.
Sreng ordered them to maintain control and hastily spread them into an
opposing line. He eyed the waiting riders narrowly, himself not sure what
action to take next.
112
DESPERATE MISSIONS
But the next action came from the other side. The rank of horsemen parted
and two riders moved forward from the rest. They dismounted, moving
toward the Firbolgs on foot. Midway they stopped and waited, clearly
expecting a like response from Sreng's force.
"They expect us to meet them," the shaman said.
"I see that," Sreng said irritably. He had no real desire to confront these
beings, whatever they were. But he couldn't look the coward to his men.
"All right, then. You and I will go."
Cautiously, he and the shaman made their way toward the two figures. As
they neared, and the shrouding mist between grew thinner, he began to see
them more clearly. His sense of wonder grew and his fear declined. It was
two women who faced them there!
He stopped before them, openly appraising them. Both were handsome, and
one was very young. They were well armed, but neither had the hard look
or massive body of the great women warriors he had known.
"Who are you, then?" he demanded with renewed arrogance. "What do you
mean blockin' our way?"
"We've no idea of keeping you from your homes," the younger woman said
with politeness. "We're searching for someone, and yours is the first
dwelling place we've found. We want to know if you've seen a young
warrior alone, lost in the barren lands."
"We know nothing," he answered curtly. "Be out of our way!"
This time the older woman spoke, and with a great deal less friendliness.
"It's not a hospitable man you are, though Firbolg chieftains have always
been known for such. We're not leaving this place until you speak with us."
"Are you not?" he said. "And are your score of bright, slender warriors with
their thin lances to stop us? Are they even really men? Shaman, what do
you say?"
"They seem more like shapes made of the sunlit mists," he said. "Some
magic forms, and not solid at all."
"These two women shaped them to frighten us," Sreng said with
confidence.
"Shaman, use your own powers to sweep them from our way."
The old man shook his head doubtfully. "I don't know. I feel great forces
coursing in them. I think that we should talk."
"You've challenged me once tonight," the chieftain bel-113
lowed "Don't do it again for your life. Do as I say if your failing magic'is
still enough."
With an expression ot great unhappmess, the shaman moved forward.

Neither of the women moved to interfere.
"Pardon this," he told them. "I've really no choice." And he raised his arms,
beginning an incantation.
As he did, the lances of the Riders dropped forward as one, forming a line
of bright points aimed at the feather-cloaked magician.
Each flared with blue-white light that jumped from one to another, joining
them in a single, crackling line of energy that shot forward like a lightning
bolt, slamming against the shaman and casting him backward. He fell
nearly at the feet of the gathered Firbolgs, who recoiled in terror, looking
down at the sprawled figure whose cloak smoked from the scorching blast.
"He's not dead," Aine assured the chieftain, who gaped, open-mouthed.
"The Riders of the Sidhe only act in our defense. They'll kill only if you try
to kill us."
"Now," said the older woman, "wilt you tell us what we want to know,
Sreng?"
He jerked his gaze back to her from the fallen magician, yet more amazed.
"How do you know me?" he asked, clearly afraid. "More magic?"
"I know you, Sreng. I saw you when I was a young girl. You ] were a
chieftain of my father." She stepped toward the other ; warriors and spoke
loudly so all could hear. "I am Taillta, (i daughter of MacErc!"
Voices exclaimed in surprise amongst the Firbolgs. The dumbfounded

chieftain replied before he thought.
"So he spoke the truth! You are his—" He choked this off.
But not before Taillta heard and understood. She rounded on him sharply.
So, you have seen him! Tell us quickly, where?"
"Why should we help?" Sreng challenged, trying to reassert himself. "Why

should we believe your tale any more than his?"
She is Taillta," gasped a voice. It came from the poor, aging shaman, now
being helped to his feet by the tatooed women.
He drew himself up weakly and forced out the halting words.
I remember her from those days. As you should, Sreng."
The chieftain eyed her more closely. Then he nodded, reluctantly.
Perhaps you are MacErc's daughter;" he said, "What kind 114
of traitor is it you've become, returning to us to ask help for a de Danann

enemy?"
"Lugh is not an enemy of the Firbolgs," she told all of them "He means to
help destroy the Fomor."
"The Fomor are not our enemies," Sreng argued.
"It was the leader of the Fomor—Balor One-Eye himselfk. who killed
MacErc,"
she said.
A cry of outrage arose amongst the gathered warriors.
"My father knew it was the Fomor who were forcing us to war against the
de Dananns for control of Eire," she continued forcefully. "He meant to
make a peace with them and share Eire. But the Fomor wanted us to fight,
to ravage one another to make each other weak."
"That's all lies," Sreng shouted. "When we came to Eire, the Fomor gave
the land to us! They let us live here in peace! But when the de Dananns
came, they challenged us. They wanted Eire for themselves and they warred
against us. It was the de Dananns who destroyed us and stole the land,"
"The de Dananns would have shared Eire with us," she countered fiercely.
"You know they offered that. But the treacherous Fomor convinced us we
must fear them and made us go to war. My father knew that, and he died.
My clan knew that, and the Fomor slaughtered them." She was looking past
Sreng now, her voice raised to address the warriors. "Hundreds of Firbolgs
were tortured and killed because Balor One-Eye wanted the boy we had
hidden. Scores of MacErc's warriors died bravely to protect him and help
him escape."
Sreng looked around at his men and saw in their expressions that Taillta's
words were reaching them. They listened and they believed. With more
desperation, he tried to counter her effect.
"The boy!" he said sardonically. "Always it comes back to him. What

madness is it that would make you give up your lives for him?"
"A prophecy," she tersely responded. "It said that Lugh, the son of the
Champion Cian, would bring about the destruction of the Fomor. I helped
him.
The warriors of MacErc helped him. Because through him will come the
vengeance for ray father's death and for the wrongs the Fomor have done
us!"
"This is some private vengeance of your own you're seekin', not ours,"
Sreng said stubbornly. "And don't be thinkin' we're fools enough to be
swayed by it.
We know well enough what the de Dananns did to us."
DESPERATE MISSIONS
115
He turned then to speak to his warriors, his voice heavy with emotion as he
appealed to them.
"You all remember how they crushed our batallions at the hattle of Magh
Turiedh. It was little enough mercy they showed us that day! They drove us
back, tearing at us the while, until there were only three hundred warriors
left in all our eleven batallions. That night the keenin' for the dead came so
loud from every Firbolg hut that the roarin' wind itself was drowned out by
the dreadful sound of it.
"And you remember how they forced us to a peace and took Eire from us,
took our homes and herds and fine green fields and left us this barren land.
They forced us here, to freeze and starve and live like animals!"
"They didn't force us to come here," she said. "The Firbolgs chose to retreat
into the farthest corners of Eire and scorn the de Dananns offer of
friendship. But we had no need to be their enemies then, and we've no need
now."
"She is right," the old shaman said courageously. "We have kept our hatred
alive for too long. It is time truly to make our peace. We must help her."
There were murmurs of agreement from the Firbolg warriors. Clearly many
of them had seen the truth in Taillta's words. Sreng saw they were wavering.
He reacted angrily.
"No!" he cried. "My brothers died in that battle. My wife died of cold and
hunger our first winter here. The de Dananns must pay for that. The Fomor
will make them pay. They'll catch that boy of yours. They'll destroy all the
de Dananns."
"What do you mean?" Aine demanded anxiously.
The chieftain smiled, enjoying her discomfort. He answered her with

savage satisfaction.
"We saw this Lugh. We let him go alive. And after he departed, the Fomors
hunting for him came to us. I sent them after him."
Taillta advanced upon him threateningly, her face hard with anger.
You sent them after him? I might have known you would. Your hatred of
the de'Dananns has made you mad."
His face grew flushed and he laid his hand upon his sword.
You 11 not give me such insult, woman. Leave here or I'll kill you, magic
warriors or not!"
You'll help us find Lugh before the Fomor do," she retorted in her own rage.
"If you'll not do it, your warriors will."
Not while I am chieftain," he said with massive arrogance.
116
"Then that," Taillta said decisively, "is what I'm going to change."
At those words the chieftain appeared surprised, and then greatly pleased.
He smiled.
"Are you meaning to give me challenge?" he asked.
"I am," she told him, drawing herself up and meeting hjs gaze boldly.
"By our Firbolg codes? Without the help of your silver warriors?"
"Alone," she agreed.
"Done, then," he said heartily. He began at once to pull off his heavy cloak.
Taillta began to do the same.
Aine, alarmed by this sudden challenge, moved close to her friend to

murmur anxiously:
"What is happening? What are you going to do?"
"I've challenged him for the right of leadership," Taillta explained, casually,
as if it were an everyday ritual. "If I win, I'll take control of the clan. Then
they will have to help us."
"And what is it you have to do to win?" asked Aine.
Taillta shrugged. "I have to kill him."
Aine looked across at the burly chieftain. He had now stripped himself to
the waist, defying the chill dawn. Though heavy, he was a strongly built
man, with a massive chest thickly furred with hair, short, powerful arms,
sloping shoulders, and a thick neck. He looked more like a standing bear
than a human, He took up his broad-bladed sword and his round shield
edged with thick iron and looked across at them.
"Kill him?" Aine asked in disbelief. "He's twice your size!"
"He's old, and fat, and likely getting slow," Taillta countered with great
bravado, returning his look with a bold glare. "My father taught me a
warrior's skills to match any man's."
"Taillta, I can't let you take this risk!" Aine told her forcefully.
The older woman met her eyes. "This is my choice. We must have their
help to find Lugh. This is how I have to get it. It's for Lugh, and that's all
you should think about."
"I don't want you to die," Aine said, her usual reserve gone in her fears for
her friend.
Taillta smiled. "You're making me the victim, girl. I don't intend to lose.
And you'd best pray I don't, or there'll be no finding Lugh in this great
Burren before the Fomor do."
With that she took up her weapons and moved forward, DESPERATE
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to close with the chieftain, who already grinned in victory.
XIV
THE IRON MONSTER
THE FIGURES RAN wearily on through a darkness that was now

beginning to give way to dawn. Ahead of them, the sky was filled with a
soft, rising glow that promised the coming sun. No group of people were
more unhappy to see it.
"Now that bloody thing will be after us at its full pace again," gasped out
the weary Angus.
"It'll make no difference," said Gilla, still loping along quite easily, still
smiling his usual inane smile. "We're far ahead of it by now. We'll easily be
able to reach the sea before it catches us."
Even the mighty Dagda was moving with more effort after a night of
running. He looked in amazement at the clown as the growing light
revealed him.
"How can you still be so fresh?" he asked.
"Weariness is only in the mind," Gilla answered brightly.
"And, since you've little of that ..." the Dagda added irritably.
"None ... of you . . . oof . . . has any . . . reason . . . umpf... for complaint!"
said Findgoll, who had suffered through a night of shaking on the Dagda's
shoulder. "I believe . . ooh . . . that all my bones . . . have been knocked , . .
ahhh . . . loose!"
"Findgoll, you are ungrateful," the Dagda said. "Be quiet or you'll be
walking, ankle or no." He shook his head and went on in an angry growl,
"But it galls me to have to run. I wish we had stayed to fight the thing."
"We couldn't risk our mission," Gilla reminded him. "And you see that I
was right."
"Very well, so you were right," the Dagda admitted grudgingly. "But you'd
best not let me see you gloating over it with that foolish grin or its you
that'll carry the little wretch."
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DESPERATE MISSIONS
119
"Little wretch?" Findgoll cried indignantly. "Why . . . y0ll great . . .
stone-headed—"
His voice cut off in midtirade. He listened. They all did They had reached
the center of an enormous plain of tall grasses, beginning to dry and yellow
in the autumn's sun and winds. They were alone on the vast, level expanse.
Alone until, from the silence, a roar arose, and from a hidden low spot
ahead of them a massive shape leaped suddenly into view.
"Oh, by the powers," Findgoll wailed in despair. "There it is!"
"Down. Quick!" ordered Gilla, and the company dropped into the tall grass
out of sight.
"So, we're far ahead of it by now, are we?" the Dagda said with heavy
sarcasm.
"Now its between us and the sea!"
"What do we do?" Angus asked. "We can't get around it, and we can't
outrun it much longer."
Gilla peeped out of the grass toward the thing.

"What's it doing?" Morrigan asked.
"Just sitting there," the clown answered.
The others joined him in peering cautiously out at the beast. It was sitting
motionless, like an enormous grey animal squatting on four legs. It was
much closer than ever before, and for the first time the fugitives were able
to have a good look at it.
It appeared to be a wheeled vehicle of a smooth metal. Its wheels were not

the thin, iron-shod wood of the de Dananns' carts, but taller than two men
and thick and made of some black material deeply grooved all around the
outer edge. They were fixed to the ends of stalklike axles that extended
from its body. This body was a rectangular metal box that rose high above
the ground.
Its front and sides were studded with a complex array of objects, many
busily engaged in movements— wheels spinning, levers rising and falling,
hinged bits opening and closing—whose purpose the watchers couldn't even
guess.
Atop this structure was a flat deck, much like a ship's, pointed at the prow.
At the back, the deck rose in two stairs to a higher quarterdeck. Centered
there was a sort of cage formed of metal rods arching over the head of a
man seated before a long, altarlike metal object. But he was not bent over it
to worship, the disguised Sea-God knew. This protected man was the driver
of the, beast, and that altar held the secret to its control.
There were over a dozen men aboard it, all in the tight-fitting grey uniforms
of the Tower Fomor. They had clearly decided it was useless to hide their
presence in Eire anymore. Two of them flanked the driver's cage. The
others were clustered at the prow. There were also mounted two barrel-
shaped objects with circles of polished glass set in the forward ends. These,
the watchers guessed, had to be the source of the lights that had plagued
them through the night.
The lights were set on tall poles, and looked like the stalked eyes of a sea
crab. In fact, save for the squareness of its lines, the machine's whole effect
was that of some monstrous shellfish, even to its having a set of rather
crablike appendages.
These massive limbs were hinged to the middle of its front near the ground.
Their bottom edges were lined with scores of closely set, well-honed metal
scythes. Each arm was jointed at its center and folded inward to meet the
other just below the prow, as if the thing were now in prayer.
"It's a kind of great cart!" Angus said, struggling to relate the awesome
vehicle to something he understood. "But how can it move without horses
to pull it?"
"How can the Fomor move their ships without any sails?" Gilla returned
and shrugged. "Who knows? Let's hope they've no other little surprises like
it with them."
"Do you think it's seen us?" asked Findgoll.
As if in answer, the roaring of the vehicle rose in volume and it started

forward again, rolling through the tall grasses directly toward them.
"That decides it, then," the Dagda announced decisively. "We'll have to
fight it."
He hefted his ax meaningfully and started to rise, but Gilla pulled him
down.
"Not so hasty," he cautioned. "Look there!"
As the metal beast sped toward them, the huge arms began to open. They
swung out to the sides and then dropped on the hinges until they came in
contact with the ground. At once the sharp scythes cut in, churning up the
grass and soil, slicing easily through the sod and turning it in a hundred
furrows. The two limbs now formed a single, lethal wall across the front of
the machine.
You see? The thing has teeth. Those warriors aren't meaning to fight us.
They'll simply mow us like the grass. It will take some trickery to get
aboard that beast."
The Dagda gave Gilla a disbelieving look. "Don't tell me you have another
mad idea."
120
DESPERATE MISSIONS
121
"It's a simple one. You'll lead the thing away. I'll get aboard and stop it.
Then you'll be free to deal with the Fomor."
"You'll stop it. just like that," the Dagda said doubtfully, "You can do that?"
"The simplest part!" Gilla answered with breezy assurance. He grinned.

"Unless you'd like to make a try."
"For the sake of Danu," Morrigan said sharply, "there's no time for this. We
have to act now!"
The Dagda looked out again at the approaching vehicle. He nodded. "All
right, clown. We'll do it."
"Good," Gilla said happily. "You and Angus lead the thing away. Findgoll,
with your leg you'd best stay here. I'll wait for it to turn and go in behind it.
Morrigan, become a raven and follow me. Raise a diversion when I get
ready to go after the driver. See him? Inside that cage."
"I see," she croaked, and at once went into her transformation.
"Ready, then?" Gilla asked as the familiar shape of the black bird appeared.
His comrades nodded. The vast metal thing was nearly upon them.
"Then, go!" he cried.
Angus and the Dagda rose up and darted away through the grass like
startled hares, cutting directly across the path of the
thing.
Gilla watched, praying to Danu the vehicle would turn to follow them.
It did, reacting with amazing speed, its enormous front wheels pivoting
under the urging of the complex, jointed arrangement beneath. It swung
around, turning its back on those still hiding in the grass.
"We've got to be quick now, Morrigan!" Gilla told the raven. "Those two
won't be able to outrun that thing for long!"
He leaped up and ran for the rear of the rolling beast as it sped away. It had
quite a lead on him, and he had to move at his best speed.
None of the Fomor warriors on the deck above noticed him. Their attention
was fixed on the figures running desperately ahead. The fact that three of
the fugitive band were missing seemed not to have registered yet.
Gilla reached the stern of the vast machine. It rose up, a sheer wall of flat
grey metal, to that rear platform where the driver sat in his cage. Around the
base of the stem ran a narrow
1 H<?e waist-high from the ground. From there a narrow ladder of metal
bands led up the side.
He got a grip on the ledge. But the machine's rear wheel hounded over a
mound and jerked upward, shaking him loose nd nearly knocking him off
his feet. He knew that if he fell he wouldn't have another chance to catch up
to the machine. He staggered but managed to stay upright. Still, the vehicle
had now gained on him again. He forced himself to his full speed once
more.
He concentrated his last power and dove forward. One lean but strong hand
gripped the edge. He pulled closer and caught at the metal with the other.
Then, with a great heave, he launched himself onto the ledge.
He seesawed there for an instant, body aboard, legs swinging down to drag
his flapping shoes in the grass. He reached up and managed to grip the
lowest rung of the ladder and, with another effort, hauled his lower half to
safety.
Clambering to his feet, he started quickly upward.
He reached the upper deck and stopped just below it, peeking over the edge
to scout his way. The driver of the mechanical beast was absorbed by the
array of devices within his cage. On either side the Fomor soldiers stood,
watching the pursuit.
Morrigan, who had flown up from the grass to circle over the rolling
vehicle, now saw that it was her time to act. To divert attention from Gilla,
she swooped boldly down and into the faces of the Fomor in the prow.
She took the first one totally by surprise, her strong talons gripping his face,
her beating wings knocking him off balance. He flailed out wildly and
toppled forward off the edge, down in front of the rows of sweeping blades.
Like the jaws of some rapacious creature, the blades seemed to suck him in.
He was pulled through sideways, run over by a dozen of the razor-edged
scythes.
In an instant they had chewed him and driven the remains into the earth,
tingeing the dark, plowed soil red in a swath behind.
Not pausing, Morrigan attacked the others, swooping here and there to
strike them. They drew swords in a desperate attempt to beat the raven off,
but were so busy cowering and protecting their vulnerable eyes that their
blows went wild.
Go help them get that bird!" the driver irritably commanded the soldiers on
either side of him. "Keep it away from me!"
122
DESPERATE MISSIONS
123
Obediently the two drew weapons and started forward, leav ing the driver
alone. When Gilla saw this, he attacked.
He jumped onto the platform and, in a single, powerful move, seized the
startled driver by the throat of his tunic and yanked him bodily from his
seat. Before the man could shout the clown swung him around toward the
edge.
The man flew off head first, diving almost gracefully to the ground below
ramming his head deeply into the soft, turned earth. His body slammed
down heavily atop it and he was still.
Gilla didn't pause to admire the effect. He hopped into the vacated seat,
unnoticed by the soldiers engaged forward. He looked for the first time at
the devices that controlled the vast machine—and he found himself at a
complete loss!
He stared in bewilderment at the myriad of strange contrivances before him.

He had traveled and he had seen much but none of it had prepared him for
this.
There were levery things and jointed things and tiny lights that blinked.
There were bumps and holes and engraved devices and bits that slid and
bits that turned and bits that didn't seem to do anything at all. And he
couldn't even begin to guess what the purpose of any of them was.
But there really wasn't time for casual pondering. The Dagda and his son
were nearly beneath the blades. He began flipping and shoving and banging
everything, working—quite systematically he thought—from left to right.
The first effect of this was that the beast gave out a loud, pained snort,
jerked forward, and began to roll even faster.
The Dagda and Angus, seeing the thing all but leaping after them, forced
yet more speed out of their own weakening legs.
"What is that madman doing?" the Dagda bellowed. "I knew we shouldn't
have trusted him again!"
"What shall we do?" cried Angus. "Shall we separate?"
"No," said the Dagda fiercely. "I've my own idea this time. You go and
help!"
"Go aboard it? How?"
"I'll show you," the Dagda told him and, without warning, he swept up his
son and lifted the astonished warrior above his head. He turned to face the
oncoming machine.
"No! What are you doing?" Angus shouted.
"Quiet!" his father commanded. "Just be ready to grab a hold!"
And with that, he launched Angus up in a high arc.
Understanding what his father intended, the warrior pre-red himself His
father's power was enough to lift him easily ^hove the cutting blades. He
came down atop the wide arm that held them, slamming hard against the
metal, scrambling for a hold on a row of large knobs where the scythes
fastened to the support. He got a grip and pulled himself up astride the arm
As the Dagda saw him land safely, he turned and ran again, now only paces
ahead of the rending teeth of the beast.
Angus climbed to his feet and ran boldly along the arm to the side of the
machine. Just above his head was the edge of the forward deck. He jumped
up and grabbed it, pulling himself up to peek over the edge.
Directly before him, Morrigan was still in a brawl with the Fomor soldiers,
sweeping amongst them, beating at them with her great wings, tearing with
beak and claws. Gilla was at the controls, engaged now in a nearly frantic
effort to slow it down, to turn it, to make it do anything helpful.
Unfortunately, his efforts had drawn the attention of one of the soldiers. As
Angus watched, he pulled another aside and pointed to the driver's cage.
The two men left the fight with the raven and headed toward the rear.
Angus realized he had come just in time. Gilla was going to need more
help.
He wasted no time entering the fray. As one of the soldiers dodging

Morrigan moved close to him, he reached up and grabbed the man's ankle,
yanking him over the side. The Fomor fell, striking the arm below and
bouncing forward in front of the blades. His last cry was sliced off sharply
and another trail of red stained Eire's dark soil.
Quickly Angus hauled himself up onto the deck and drew his sword and
dagger to face the rest.
As the soldiers turned toward this new attacker in surprise, Morrigan used
the respite to flutter down behind them and transform. Suddenly the
astonished Fomor found themselves between two formidable opponents.
"Kill them quickly!" Angus told her. "Gilla needs help!"
Indeed he did. For the clown had given over his tampering with the controls
to defend himself from the attack of the two soldiers. One came at him from
either side of the cage, and he was forced to shift constantly back and forth
to parry the swords jabbing in at him.
Im really very busy here, you know," he told them. "Couldn't this wait for
just a bit?"
But the soldiers didn't seem inclined to listen to reason.
124
CHAMPIONS OK THE S1DHE
He was hampered by his position behind the controls, al though the bars of
the cage were providing some protection The two couldn't easily get at him
and couldn't swing at him They were forced to make thrusts between the
metal bands Then one drove his blade forward just too far and Gilla brought
his own weapon down on it with full force. He drove the Fomor weapon
against a bar and it snapped off just above the hilt.
The other soldier, however, used this chance to get around the side of the
cage and come directly in at the clown. Gilla threw himself back and the
man's thrust slipped past, but the momentum brought him in to collide and
grapple with the clown.
They twisted around in their struggle and fell against the panel of controls,
shifting half of them at once.
This had an effect. The machine bucked, shuddered, slowed somewhat, and
then began to make a long, easy turn.
Out in front, the Dagda suddenly realized the thing was Falling away
behind him. He stopped in amazement to watch it make a curve and circle
back the way it had come. Noting the struggle on the deck, he headed after
the now departing vehicle, intending to join the fight. Then a more urgent
concern filled him as he saw the direction that the beast was taking.
In its wide circle, it was heading back toward where the crippled, helpless
Findgoll lay.
He began to run faster, this time in a desperate attempt to pull Findgoll from
its path.
Aboard, the Fight was nearly over. Morrigan and Angus were forcing the
last three warriors against the side. Angus disarmed one of them with a
skillful thrust. The Fomor looked fearfully at their adversaries, at the
ruthless gleam in Morrigan's bright eyes. Then they exchanged a look of
agreement and turned together to leap over the side.
They landed in the plowed earth behind the blades, alive but unlikely to do
any moving for some time.
At the controls, Gilla had finally managed to shove his assailant back and
disable him with a blow of his fist. But the one he had disarmed now came
leaping upon him, knocking Gilla completely from the seat. Locked
together, the two rolled to the edge of the deck. There the Fomor got a firm
grip on the clown's thin throat and began to push him over the side.
One of the immense rear wheels was turning right below his DESPERATE
MISSIONS
125
head. He could feel it brushing the ends of his long, tangled He looked into
the face of his adversary. The fellow looked very determined, and he had
the muscles to accomplish his intent. Gilla found his will to succeed
distressingly excessive.
"You're - . . making it ... very hard ... for me to breathe," he pointed out in a
choked voice. "I'd be grateful if you'd let go."
The man only tightened his grip, forcing Gilla back, back, until the clown
thought his spine would crack. The top of the wheel was nearly touching his
head now. The deep grooves caught and pulled at his dangling hair.
"You Fomor . . . aren't much ... for listenin', are you?" he gasped out.
He was nearly over now, his consciousness fading. The man grinned in
victory.
Then the grin froze on his face and he straightened stiffly upright, hands
dropping away from Gilla's throat. The eyes went blank and he toppled
forward, falling over Gilla, his weight carrying him over the side.
Gilla saw the metal bolt protruding from his back as he landed upon the
wheel and was rolled down and under it, to be pressed into the soft, turned
soil.
The rescued clown sat up to see Angus standing on the lower deck, holding
one of the Fomor bows.
"Look what I found!" he said, grinning.
"Thank you for that!" Gilla said warmly, climbing up and grimacing at his
wrenched back. "But what about your father?"
"He's behind us," Morrigan crackled, moving to the prow. "But look there!"
She pointed ahead.
They could see Findgoll now. And the Druid had seen them. He was
waving, apparently unaware of his danger.
"We'll run right over him!" Angus cried. "Gilla, I thought you could stop
this thing!"
I m trying," the clown assured him. "But you could help. See if you can find
out what makes it run. Try to turn it off!"
He climbed back behind the controls, and they began a search of the
machine for some way to bring it to a halt.
The Dagda, meantime, had caught up with them from behind. He realized
there was no time to get around the moving thing and reach Findgoll, He
had to find a way to stop it, or at least slow it until those above could act.
And he only knew of
126

one way he might do that himself. He moved up to the long axle that
connected the rear wheels, took a firm grip on the heavy metal cylinder, and
dug in.
Instantly he was making his own deep furrow in the earth as his braced legs
were dragged along. He set himself, threw back against the forward pull,
and tensed. He pitted his entire strength, called upon every bit of will, every
trick of mystical control that he had learned in the Magic Isles. He shut his
eyes, focused his mind and body, and challenged the mechanical force of
the metal beast with his own powers.
Slowly, slowly, his will began to tell. The thing began to lose speed. It
balked and roared in complaint, lumbering along sluggishly. Still, it crawled
forward, across the unmarked grass, cutting its way toward the place where
Findgoll lay.
The Druid, finally understanding his peril, began his own crawling, but he
was too late and his effort too slow to save him.
The Dagda's effort, however, was giving the others more time. Gilla
prodded and flicked at the controls, Morrigan and Angus probed
everywhere for some vulnerable spot in the monster's iron hide. Their
efforts were in vain.
"There's nothing!" Angus said despairingly. He and Morrigan moved back

to join the clown.
Below, the Dagda strained, ignoring the screaming pain in his muscles.
Findgoll looked up at the thing looming above him and froze in fear.
Gilla jerked and prodded at the controls.
"There's nothing else to do!" cried Angus. He seized a large heavy tool set
in brackets on the panel's side and wrenched i? free. He swung it up over
the controls, to strike. "We've got to smash them all!"
"No! No!" Gilla protested, working faster. "I can find the way!"
The Dagda was near exhaustion, his muscles tearing as if the arms would be
pulled from their sockets. He set his teeth and hung grimly on.
"It's too late!" Angus shouted at the clown. "Move back!"
He tensed himself to slam the metal tool against the panel.
The shadow of the machine fell upon the Druid. The gleaming teeth slid
forward to rend him.
Morrigan's long, bony hand shot forward, gripped a tiny lever in one corner
of the panel, and twisted it.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
127
The vehicle's powerful roar died instantly. It rolled quietly, gently, to a halt,
its scythes just cutting into the sod before Findgoll's feet.
Angus and Gilla looked up in astonishment at the raven-woman. An

uncharacteristic little smile lit her gaunt face and she shrugged.
"It was the only thing you hadn't touched," she said casually.
"About time!" Findgoll called in a shrill, scolding voice, having recovered

his senses.
"I'll certainly agree with that!" the Dagda added sincerely, moving out from
under the machine and flexing his sore arms.
"Thank you for your help," the little Druid told the giant champion. "I'd no
idea you cared so much for my life."
"Not your life," the Dagda said gruffly. "It's your foolish tricks I'd miss."
"But what'll we do now?" Angus asked his comrades. "It's still a way to the
sea, and there may be more Fomor seeking us."
"We've none of that to be fearin' anymore," Gilla said with his usual glee,
patting the controls in front of him. "From here on, we ride!"
XV
TO THE SEA
IN THE LITTLE cove, one of the sleek black ships of the Tower Fomor sat
drawn up on the shore. Nearby it on the beach, its crewmen were camped
around several cooking fires. And not far away from them, like a giant sea
creature that had crawled from the water to feed, sat another of the metal
vehicles.
Safely hidden on a hill above the cove, Gilla and his party stared down on
this unpleasant company for a time, in unhappy silence.
Well, they've certainly managed to block our way again," Angus said at
length.
Are you certain it's here we're to find the ship that will take us to
Manannan's Isle?" the Dagda asked the clown.
I am that!" Gilla cheerfully replied. He was the only one 128
DESPERATE MISSIONS
129
not touched by the gloom. "Our boat is hidden in the little thumb of rocks
that juts out just beyond them, there." He pointed. "Its the way that we must
go."
"Just how is it you know all these things, clown?" Morrigan rattled
curiously.
"Lugh gave me fine instructions, that he did!" he assured her. "Now all
we've a need to do is get it and be off. We've plenty of time."
"All we've a need to do!" Angus repeated scornfully. "Why not? There are
only a hundred men down there. And another of those bleeding iron beasts."
"It does make me wonder just a bit how they always seem to know exactly
where we'll go," Gilla said with unusual gravity.
"If they know we're coming here, maybe they've found the boat too,"
Findgoll suggested.
"Ah, no," Gilla assured him. "The boats hidden so only we can find it. Lugh
told me that Manannan's seen to that." He smiled and added with great awe,
"He must truly be an amazin' man!"
"Never mind him," the Dagda said sharply, unimpressed. "What about us?
How will we get to it? Those Fomor aren't likely just to sit and watch us
putting out to sea."
"We'll have to take them unawares," said Gilla. "By good fortune, we've got
the perfect thing for doing that."
He gestured back over his shoulder at the machine they had captured and
driven here.
"What, use that thing?" the Dagda asked skeptically.
"We'll ride it right down upon them," Gilla said with savag delight, "They'll
not know it's us until we're amongst them.'
"Can you control the thing that well?"
"I brought us here, didn't I, now?" the clown said, soundinj hurt that the big
man would doubt his skill.
"You nearly killed us doing it," the Dagda reminded him.
"Just a bit of experimenting. I'm fully master of it now."
"And what about that other little piece of metal?" Angus wondered. "They
could use it to stop us."
"Trust me," said Gilla, smiling his broadest smile. "I have a plan."
"That I should have guessed," the Dagda groaned.
It was not long after that the Fomor gathered below heard the rising sound
of something growling, and looked up to see one of their own machines roll
over the rise behind the shore and start down toward them.
The captain in charge of the waiting men eyed it thoughtfully.
"I wonder what its doing back here so soon?" he asked.
"Maybe it's finished off the de Dananns," a nearby lieutenant suggested.
"It certainly better have if its returning," he said sharply.
He and the others stood watching it come without any sense of alarm. As it
came closer, the captain did note that there seemed to be very few men on
its superstructure. He wondered if they had run into more resistance than
expected. Still, if they had succeeded, Balor would be pleased, no matter
what the cost.
He climbed the gangway into his ship and gave orders to the crew there.
The well-disciplined sailors acted swiftly, swinging out a huge crane. He
would have both machines loaded at once and be off back to the Tower.
Meanwhile, on the approaching vehicle, the passengers scanned the scene

ahead with growing tension. Except, of course, for Gilla. He sat back at the
controls, lazily manipulating the vast machine, humming a merry little air
and enjoying himself.
At the prow stood Angus and the Dagda. Morrigan, again in her raven
guise, perched on the cage above Gilla while Findgoll, still nursing his
ankle, sat on the platform nearby.
"No signs of alarm there yet," the Dagda remarked. "They seem to be
making some preparations about the ship,"
"To welcome us home, no doubt," the clown said with a satisfied grin.
"Keep steady, you two. Angus, keep that thing ready. You're certain you can
hit something with it now?"
Angus hefted the Fomor crossbow and answered with what assurance he
could. "I hope so. I've been practicing with it all day."
"Good enough. But don't fire until you're sure."
They kept on steadily, slowly, directly toward their monsters twin. Only a
few soldiers were lounging upon it, watching them come. It was silent, and
no one manned its controls. Gilla knew it would take some time to bring it
into action now.
As they drew yet nearer to the Fomor camp, the captain paused to look
again, noting something puzzling. The cutting arms were out. That was very
odd. They were to be kept in except in an attack. What was that driver
thinking about?
"Bring me a glass!" he ordered his lieutenant.
Instantly the man brought one of the tubular devices to him.
130
DESPERATE MISSIONS
131
He peered through it, seeing the machine and its riders twice as large as
before. His sweeping gaze lit on the two at the prow. As he focused on
them, he realized with a shock that that giant figure could not be one of his
men!
"The thing's been captured!" he bellowed. He ran to the ship's side, snouting
across to the men at the second machine. "Quickly, get that vehicle manned!
Stop them! They are de Dananns!"
Soldiers scrambled for the vehicle. Those already aboard it rushed for their
positions.
"They're going to get that thing moving," said the Dagda. "They must have
spotted us!"
"Shall I fire?" said Angus, lifting the bow.
"Steady!" Gilla said calmly. "Just a bit farther."
The driver of the other machine was now at its controls. They heard the
preliminary coughing and whining of the forces within it as they began to
awaken.
"They're starting it," said the Dagda.
"A little bit more," said Gilla.
Soldiers were gathering on the forward platform. Some were moving to the
prow, seizing bows of their own. The man at the controls was manipulating
them frantically to ready the monster for movement. The scythe arms began
to unfold.
"Now!" Gilla said.
Angus fired. With a sharp, metallic snap, the bow sent its bolt speeding to
the target.
It was a hit. The driver was knocked backward completely from his seat by
the impact of the bolt that transfixed his chest. At the same moment, Gilla
wheeled his vehicle sharply away and headed it straight in toward the
Fomor encampment and the beached ship.
The Fomor captain watched in growing horror as the vast thing turned
toward him, the cutting blades ready to tear through scores of men at once.
And if it struck the ship ^ . .
"Aboard!" he screamed at the panicking men below. "Get aboard! Cast off
at once!"
The Fomor on the other vehicle were still trying to act. A new driver was
climbing behind the controls. But it was already too late. The rolling
machine was past and heading with increasing speed toward the shore.
Gilla now climbed from behind his own controls and shouted to his
comrades.
"Let's go now! Climb off this way! Off the back!"
They all headed toward the stern of the vehicle. Morrigan flapped away as
the rest started down the ladder,
"Roll as you hit," Gilla advised. "Then head at an angle toward that rock
spit to the. north. Get under cover there."
As they were climbing down, the Fomor were clambering madly into their
ship.
Their captain was giving orders in a shrill, desperate voice and casting ever
more fearful glances at the descending behemoth that was about to ravage
his precious vessel.
"Get this ship off!" he shouted to the crew already aboard. "Forget the rest.
Cut loose! Cut loose!"
Axes were seized and wielded against the mooring cables. Powerful forces
deep within the ship rumbled to life. With agonizing slowness it began
dragging itself from the sucking grip of the sand. The gangways fell,
splashing into the water. Men still climbing up them were dropped into the
sea. Those left on the shore began to run into the surf, crying out for rescue,
begging not to be abandoned there.
And behind the desperate Fomor, the brutal thing bore down, its glinting
teeth ready to devour them.
Some dove into the water to escape. Others tried to run out of the way.
Many did escape, but many were caught, chewed up, their shredded bodies
spewed out the back or plowed into the furrows in the sandy soil. The pale
grey beach was turned rust in a wide swath.
The machine plunged into the sea in a great wallop and swoosh of water.
The pressure of the water slowed its forward motion as it drove on in,
giving the ship added time to slip away. Its sleek bow just cleared the
shallows and the metal beasts scythe arm only nicked its side. Then the ship
was out of reach and the vehicle sank to rest in water that came up nearly to
its deck.
Under the surface, the flooded insides of the thing began a coughing sound
like that of a drowning man. It spluttered instead of roaring steadily. Then it
began to grumble in a low and ominous voice and the whole structure
started shuddering as the sound built to a nearly deafening pitch.
Full back!" the captain ordered as he saw the thing convulsing in its death
throes.
The forces powering the black ship raised their own loud thunder and the
lean hull sliced back through the waves at an increasing speed, opening a
wider space between the two.
The de Danann adventurers had by this time reached the 132
DESPERATE MISSIONS
133
rooks unnoticed. They climbed into their shelter to watch with glee the
havoc they had created. The ship was pulling desperately away. The dozens
still stranded on the beach were fleeing in all directions from the stricken
machine. Those Fomor crew-ing its twin were abandoning it to run as well.
"I think we should take shelter," Gilla suggested to the rest.

"Why?" asked the Dagda.
A vast explosion rocked the shore, knocking them off their feet into the
rocks as debris flew over them. 'Hie shaking continued for long moments,
accompanied by secondary explosions like the crack of recurrent lightning.
It deafened them, showered them with sand and flying metal bits. Finally
the sound rolled away and they ventured a cautious look out at the scene.
The machine had largely disappeared, leaving a hole in the seabed just
offshore that was already filling with incoming waves. Above, a great grey-
white cloud puffed up and spread into the sky. Around the hole for some
distance the flying remains had created a fan of deep marks in the sand.
The second machine had been overturned by the blast. It lay, wheels
moving slowly, like a beetle flipped onto its back. The few men who had
survived were struggling to rise or lying hurt and moaning along the shore.
The ship had escaped, but barely. Its side was marked by the impact of
flying wreckage and most of its crew had been thrown to the decks,
stunned. The vessel wallowed in the heavy waves the blast had made,
apparently not under anyone's control.
"Now's the time to go," Gilla said. "Quick, now. While that ship's helpless."
He urged his comrades, themselves somewhat stunned by the incredible

force of the explosion, toward the sea end of the natural rock jetty. He led
them over the larger rocks and down to the water. There, with a triumphant
wave, he showed them a hidden cave beneath the overhanging boulders
where a small vessel lay.
It was a curragh, made of many hides stretched over a frame of supple

branches. It had a sail fixed to a slender mast. It was a light and fragile-
looking craft and the Dagda eyed it critically.
"Is that to carry all of us?"
"It is," Gilla replied. "Get in. There's little time."

The big man hesitated. "It won't hold even the likes of me! Can't this great
Sea-God do any better for us?"
"He's a man of simple tastes," Gilla said, a touch impatient. "This boat will
be enough. Please, just get in!"
Reluctantly, the Dagda climbed down and into it. Miraculously, the little
vessel seemed unaffected by his formidable weight.
"You see?" said Gilla, smiling in a superior way. "Will the rest of you get in
now? And quickly!"
The others clambered in at once. Morrigan fluttered down to land atop a

seat.
Gilla moved to the stem and seized the tiller while Angus hauled up the sail.
The small spread billowed at once, and the boat responded smartly, scooting
out of the hidden slot into the open sea and away.
She was well out before there was any sign of life from the black ship. Then
a cry went up from the recovering crew. The Fomor captain stumbled to his
feet and moved to the side, realizing that their quarry had somehow gotten
to a boat and were sailing away under his very nose.
Visions of having to face Balor with that news flashed through his mind. He
bellowed commands to his still groggy crew.
"Get this vessel underway! Put about!" Sluggishly, the black ship turned out
to sea. The internal forces that powered her began to propel her forward in
the wake of the little craft. "To the sail!" he ordered.
Hands scrambled for the tall mast, and soon the glowing white sail
blossomed, its massive spread ballooning out to catch the breezes and thrust
the vessel forward at greater speed.
^They're after us now!" Angus announced. "Nothing to fear," Gilla assured

him.
"There's no ship fast enough to catch us!"
He seemed to be right. Although the sleek metal ship traveled with

marvelous speed, some greater magic seemed to carry the smaller craft
flying across the water like a wave-skimming bird.
^We're free of them, then!" Findgoll said with relief. "Well, not quite,"
Gilla answered lightly, as if it were a matter of no great note. "The Fomor

aren't going to be makin' it quite so easy for us."
So easy!" Angus repeated in disbelief. "You call what we've been through
so far easy?"
134
"Still, it's not ended yet," said the clown, pointing forward. "Look there."
Directly ahead of them, a long, dark shape topped by a cloud of iridescent

white hove into view on the rim of the sea.
"Another ship?" the Dagda said heavily.
"The Fomor from the Tower are thorough, that they are," said Gilla. "I
thought they might try to block us should we get out to sea."
"We can run past her," the Dagda said. "Turn north."
"And then what?" Gilla inquired pleasantly, pointing again.
From the north a third ship had appeared and was sweeping toward them.
"There's always the south," Angus suggested.
"Not anymore," said Findgolt. For yet another ship had now topped the
horizon there, headed their way.
"They've caught us in a box!" the Dagda cried angrily, looking around.
From the tip of the mast on each a tiny light was visible, blinking wildly.
"What are they doing with those lights?"
"Telling one another that we're here," Gilla replied. "Likely they're deciding
a plan of attack."
"Whichever way we run, they'll cut us of£" Angus said in a defeated voice.
"They've caught us surely this time."
"Nothing like it," Gilla said with no lessening of his merry assurance. "This
only adds a bit of fun to the chase, it does."
And with that, he pointed the little boat toward the ship coming in from the
east.
"You can't just sail straight along as if nothing were wrong," the Dagda
protested. "What about all your grand planning?"
"I've a plan," Gilla told him. "But let them close their trap a bit. Then we'll
wiggle out."
As the disguised Sea-God Manannan himself, Gilla might have used his
enormous powers over the sea to disable, delay, or even destroy the Fomor.
But his orders from his Queen Danu withheld him from wanton destruction
unless he had no choice. Besides, he thought, there would be great fun and
satisfaction in toying with these arrogant Fomor and then making fools of
them.
Not sharing his thoughts, his companions did not share his carefree manner
as he steered them in toward seemingly certain doom.
The ship before them was now quite close. The de Dananns could see its
details and see the sailors swarming on its deck.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
135
The other ships were drawing closer too, tightening the sides of the box,
closing their trap.
But Gilla let the box grow smaller, smaller, until it seemed he meant to ram
the ship sweeping toward them head on. Its bow loomed over them when he
finally pulled the craft sharply
about.
It heeled far over, nearly launching the Dagda over the side. As it turned
away, the Fomor ship was taken off guard and sailed past, unable to turn in
time. When it finally did respond, the small craft was away, driving toward
the south.
But the southern ship was slashing through the waves into a blocking
position.
Quicker to respond to Gilla's move, its captain put his helm hard over,
cutting in front of the new course.
Gilla turned sharply the opposite way, catching the Dagda off balance once
more and sending him reeling across to the boat's other side. He bellowed
his anger, clutching wildly at the mast to save himself The tiny ship was
now running parallel to the Fomor warship. It was only yards away, and its
sailors were lining the bulwarks, training weapons on them. They included
a crossbow of enormous size carrying a bolt larger than a man's leg and
fitted with a barbed head of iron. Attached to it was a cable, and it was clear
they intended to try a grapple.
"Gilla, they're going to spear us like a fish!" Angus warned.
"Not really," the unflappable clown called back. For, coming at them from
the front was the northern ship, also speeding to cut them off. It was now on
a collision course with the ship beside them.
Neither captain had realized until now the situation the tiny craft was
drawing them into. Finally seeing the other bearing down at full speed, each
frantically moved to alter course. Gilla veered hard left away from them as
they tried to swerve apart.
They managed to miss striking, their sides scraping against one another
with a rending shriek of metal. But by now the ship that had come in from
the east had made a sharp turn of its own and was heading toward the other
two. As this third ship drove in, its captain saw the others locked together,
barely moving. He tried to reverse his power, but it was far too late. His
prow rammed directly into the starboard prow of the southbound ship and
slammed it against the one on the far side.
All three were jerked violently to a dead stop, throwing the crews from their
feet. The slender mast of the ramming ship
136
shivered in the impact, cracked near its base, and toppled forward, bringing
down its sail in a graceful billow into the cables of the others' sails, creating
a magnificent tangle.
Gilla looked back at the carnage as the little boat shot away, laughing in his
delight. Then a shouted warning from the Dagda, who still clung tightly to
the mast, brought his gaze back to the front. He realized that they were
nearly under the bow of the last ship, the one that had pursued them from
Eire.
It had come up on them in the confusion. Its captain was gloating. He was
going to drive their frail boat under.
He was mistaken. With a careless flip of the tiller, Gilla sent the boat around
in another tight turn. It shot across the big ship's bow and away.
The despairing captain of the final boat, seeing his quarry slip away a
second time, was not ready to give up. He screamed orders at his crew to
maintain the pursuit. But in his rage he failed to note the three ships stopped
ahead. He crashed into them at full speed, wracking them again, driving his
sharp bow deep into the hull of the northbound ship.
For moments the four captains were busily engaged in shouting accusations
and threats at one another, each trying to place the blame on someone else.
Then a lowly and courageous sailor pointed out to them that while they
argued, their quarry had escaped.
In hopeless dismay, they watched the tiny boat flit away across the sea until
it was lost in the haze of the earth's rim.
All four men knew that long before they could sort out this chaos and start
in pursuit, the de Danann craft would be entering the band of mists that
surrounded Manannan's Isle. And none of them, even if it meant facing
Balor's wrath, would take their ship into that terrible white void. For only
death lurked there.
Nuada forced himself to watch the warriors practicing with their spears. It
was painfully slow progress they showed. But at least, he thought, it was
progress.
A more pleasing development was the speed with which their ranks had
begun to swell. Already Lugh's early success in contacting the settlements
was having its effect. He only hoped that Lugh—or Aine if it came to that
—would be able to complete the mission.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
137
His thoughts were interrupted by the approach of Captain Niet.
"My King, our scouts intercepted a party of men coming back toward Tara."
"Coming back?" Nuada repeated in puzzlement. "From where?"
Niet looked carefully around. No one was nearby save young Ruadan,
busily honing the edges of his spearpoint. The boy was loyal to the High-
King, an adoring puppy constantly following him around. Niet disregarded
his presence and continued, but dropped his voice to a confidential tone.
"They were the men escorting the Dagda's party. They were ambushed by
Tower Fomor."
"By the powers!" Nuada said in shock.
"Its all right," Niet hastily went on. "The Dagda and the others escaped and
went ahead. But they sent those of the escort who weren't hurt back here
with the wounded. Knowing Bobd Derg's feelings, I thought it best just to
tuck them quietly away."
"Good man," said Nuada. "Yes, our Bard would do a great deal of ranting if
he heard about this." He shook his head. "But it looks worse and worse,
Niet. If the Tower really is involved ..."
"Even its powers can't stop the likes of the Dagda and Mor-rigan. My
King,"
the captain said with conviction. "They told the men to say that they'll still
return here in good time."
Nuada hoped so. These ominous events troubled him deeply. But he told
himself it was still too soon to begin fearing the worst.
"Supply those men with whatever they need," he told Niet, and dismissed
him.
Turning back to the spear throwers, he noted Ruadan, apparently still hard
at work, tongue tip sticking from the side of his mouth in concentration.
"My boy, you'll keep to yourself anything you've heard, won't you?" he
asked.
The young warrior looked up, his guileless face filled with obvious
bewilderment at this question.
"My King, I was so busy here, I wasn't even aware you were speaking to
someone."
Satisfied with that, Nuada smiled. "Never mind then. Get on with your
work.
You'll yet be a de Danann champion yourself."
138
Ruadan beamed at this and obediently got back to his job. But his mind was
working even more furiously. Here was another bit of unsettling news. It
must, he decided, be carried to his father at once.
He began to devise a scheme to slip away from Tara that night and make a
visit to the Fomor camp.
XVI
THE POOKA
WHEN LUGH AWOKE from his long slumber, it was to a very peculiar
sight indeed.
An enormous set of haunches filled his view. Startled, he sat up and stared
around him, momentarily confused.
He realized that what was before him was a large black horse. But the
animal was crouched down on al! fours, for all the world like a man, neck
stretched out, huge lips pursed absurdly as it gently puffed on a tiny fire.
The thing really wasn't a horse, he decided as he considered it more closely.
It had clawed feet, or paws, more like those of a cat. And it seemed much
too hairy for a horse. More woolly, in feet, like a sheep.
Then the fog of his heavy sleep cleared, and he understood that it was the
Pooka he saw. He looked around him at the tiny clearing in the woods and
recalled how it had brought him here. When? The night before? That fact
shocked him and he looked up to the sky. It was full daylight now. The sun
was high. How much precious time had he lost here?
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked aloud.
The animal started and jumped to its feet at the sound, swinging its head
around on the long neck. Large brown eyes regarded him and the creature
visibly relaxed.
"Ah, so you're awake, are you?" it said, baring wide, flat teeth in what Lugh
guessed was meant for a smile. "Well, I hope your feeling better. You were
well out when I finally got you here. It's been all the night you slept."
DESPERATE MISSIONS
139
"And half the morning, too, it seems," Lugh added. "I can't stay here any
longer. I've got to get on."
He tried to rise from the bed of leaves, but his wounds and his stiffened
limbs rebelled in their agony and he fell back.
"Wait on," the Pooka advised, shifting around toward him. "You'll not be
moving so quickly. You were badly used. Rest a bit more. Regain some of
your strength."
"But the Fomor!" Lugh protested.
"We left your Fomor wandering in the Burren. There's no sign of them
about.
But, tell me now, why is it that race of mongrels is chasing after you?"
"I'm on a mission to call every de Danann to a hosting against them," Lugh

said. "They mean to keep me from doing that."
"So, the de Dananns are finally going to rise against them!" the being said
with great interest. "I thought that might never come."
Lugh eyed the Pooka with greater curiosity. "You know about it?"
"It's certain that I do," it assured him gravely. "In my wanderings I learn all
the happenings and see what the Fomor have done. I hope the de Dananns
can crush them."
"They'll have little chance of that unless I can complete my task," Lugh said
glumly. "The Fomor have managed to destroy my escort and leave me afoot
and lost. I'll never be able to contact the last settlements in time. I've half of
Eire yet to reach."
At that the Pooka brightened, pulling itself up. "But you can, with my
help!"
it announced.
"You? How can you do that?" the young warrior asked in puzzlement.
"I can fly you anywhere you're needing to go."
"Fly me?" Lugh repeated, doubtfully. He examined the Pooka's large and
decidedly earthbound form.
It smiled again. "Well, not like this, surely. You've forgotten that I can shift
my shape whenever I please. I can become the greatest, grandest bird you
ever saw. Strong enough to carry you easily."
The being proclaimed this with a ringing note of pride. Lugh believed that it
could do what it said. He had seen with his own eyes that it was capable of
radical changes in form. Still, though he sensed the Pooka was good-hearted
and sincerely wanted to help, the young warrior was a stranger to it.
140
DESPERATE MISSIONS
141
"Why is it you're so willing to help me?" he asked it with open curiosity.
"First you risked your own life against the wolves, and now this."
"Last night I helped you because you were needing help," it answered
simply.
"Today, knowing of your mission, I want to help you complete it. I've
reasons for wishing to see the de Dananns win. So, will you let me help?"
The voice became cajoling. The liquid brown eyes pleaded.
"You've little need to convince me," Lugh said. "I've no other chance of
finishing my task. I need your help. Of course I'll accept your offer, and
gladly!"
"Ah, that's fine then!" it said with great delight. It nodded toward a small
pile of far by the little fire. "I've some game here. I'll leave you to clean and
cook it. Eat and begin restoring the strength you've lost. After that, we can
be off."
Lugh agreed readily. His stomach was crying out in its hunger. He took the
brace of rabbits the Pooka had caught, skinned them with his dagger, and
spitted them on long sticks to prop over the fire. As he worked, the beast
dropped down nearby and watched him, clearly fascinated by everything
the young warrior did.
In turn, Lugh considered the amazing being. Its gentle, "pleasant manner
seemed a sharp contrast to the savagery with which it had fallen upon the
wolves. He wondered if its nature changed to fit the type of beast that it
became. He rather
hoped not.
Hands are truly wonderful things, that they are," the Pooka said in a
thoughtful voice. "It was the most terrible time I had starting up that fire.
I never build them for mysel£ you know. The best of paws or claws are
almost useless, clumsy things. Yes, I do miss hands."
"Miss them?" asked Lugh. He had learned in Eire that one didn't pry into
another's life uninvited. Still, the peculiar nature of the Pooka made it very
hard for a curious young man. Unable to restrain himself, he asked: "Did
you have hands once?"
"Hands, arms, feet, legs—oh, yes. All of that. All the normal parts." His
voice grew quite wistful, almost sorrowful. The eyes grew darker and the
large nose even seemed to droop.
"Look here," Lugh ventured after some farther hesitation, "would you mind
telling me about yourself? I mean, I'm really going mad with questions
about who you are and how it is you speak."
The thing cheered at Lugh's interest. "No. I'd not mind telling you at all.
It drew itself up into a resemblance of a sitting posture, back legs pulled up

like a dogs, front legs crossed casually before it.
"Long ago," it began, "those of my clan were men, like you, before we lost
the power to take on that form. My own father was of the Sons of Nemed
who went to live in the Isles of the
Blessed."
"You mean, you're of the Tuatha de Danann yourself?" interrupted the

astonished Lugh.
"That we were," it confirmed. "And like the others who dwelt in Tir-na-nog,
we learned something of the arts of magic from the people of Queen Danu.
Many of the de Dananns developed their own skills. My fathers was the
skill of shifting shape. Ah, he was a master of that one. And there must
have been something of the natural ability for it in his blood, you know, for
he had no trouble teaching the magic to us, and we all had a mastery of it
that no other of the de Dananns could match. Why, from the time we were
babes we were playing about with our forms. Drove our mothers mad, it
did!"
As it spoke, Lugh began to notice that the form of the being was altering
right then. Not having seen this happen clearly before, Lugh observed the
transformation, much intrigued.
It was a very peculiar sort of shifting process, as if the Pooka were formed
of some thick fluid or soft clay. The body bulged and shrank and stretched
as if it were undecided as to what animal shape to take. The head altered
most radically, the nose swelling out or deflating, the eyes growing or
shrinking to glowing dots, the mouth stretching to alarming size or drawing
in to a thin line.
This created outrageous and often grotesque combinations as fleetingly as

the shifting of a cloud's shape in the wind.
The fascination quickly wore thin for Lugh. It was too bewildering.
"Excuse me," he said as politely as he could, "but did you know that your
body had become a bit ... ah .. ."—he searched for the right word—". . .
loose?"
"Ah, I'm sorry about that!" the Pooka said apologetically. "I let it go when
I'm not thinking about it."
Well, if you'd not mind, I'd find it easier if you could keep one shape. Its
hard to listen to you when you're changing about like that. And it's not that
pleasant to watch, you know."
I suppose not," it agreed. The being settled back into a 142

DESPERATE MISSIONS
143
roughly horselike shape again, though its feet were those of a dog and its
body was small and round and very fuzzy, like a sheep's. It was strange,
Lugh thought, but certainly not alarming-
"Tell me more about this skill of yours," the warrior said. "Is it like what the
Morrigan can do?"
It snorted derisively. "The Morrigan. She's mastered only the single shape
of the raven. We can be anything. Our clan was quite proud of that. Too
proud, in fact. Our troubles started because of it."
"You mean that's why you lost the power to become men?" Lugh asked.
The creature nodded, its large eyes sad again. "Aye. It was our own
weakness did it. You see, we began to use our power for trickery. Some of
my brothers liked nothing more than to take a form and cause some
mischief. And I did a share of it myself. It was especially good sport to play
our little pranks upon the ladies."
The creature smiled and its voice took on a nostalgic note as it continued. "I
remember a time when five of them were bathing in a pond. We turned to
great, handsome swans and glided out toward them. And them, all unaware
. . ." It looked at the young warrior, who was listening quite attentively, and
quickly shook itself from this dubious reverie. "Never mind that. The thing
was, none of our trickery was meant to do any harm, nasty though some
thought it. We did no evil until we were drawn into it by that Druid
Mathgen." The name was spat out like something obscene.
"Mathgen?" said Lugh. "I've never heard of him. Was he a de Danann?"
"He was. But he's long since been destroyed. You see, he plotted to
overthrow Danu and to seize the Four Cities for himself. But to capture
Danu, he needed help to sneak into her palace and surprise her. Well, for
that he used his powers to convince some of my poor, weak brothers to join
him. Just a bit of sport, he told them. A great joke on Danu it was to be.
"And so they took on the shape of birds to carry the man and his brigands
into the sacred inner courts of Danu. When they realized what he was truly
about, it was too late. And when the de Dananns managed to defeat his
scheme, my brothers were named traitors right along with him."
He shook his head in sorrow at the painful memory before going on heavily.
"The rest of the de Dananns had been putting up with our pranks for years,
and many of them already distrusted us. So they weren't inclined to give us
much sympathy, you can be sure of that! They decreed that the whole tribe
of the Pookas was not to be trusted again by them, and they appealed to
Danu to inflict a fitting punishment on us so that neither we nor they would
ever forget our terrible crime.
'"Since you love so much to take the shapes of creatures,' she said, 'yůr fate
will be to do so always, for it's never the shape of men you'll wear again.'"
"That sounds a bit hard," the fair-minded young warrior remarked, feeling
sorry for the poor, cursed animal.
"To me it's always seemed what we deserved," it said. "In any case, when
the rest of the de Dananns returned to Eire from the Blessed Isles, my clan
chose to come too. Now we make our homes in the lonely places, outcast
by our own people, ashamed of and avoiding the sight of man. Though
some of my brothers still like to play their tricks on de Dananns or Fomor
or Firbolgs, or anyone wearing the human form."
The Pooka sighed again, the round sides heaving with it, and shook its great
head.
"But, for myself, I've missed the company of men," it went on dismally.
"It's why I've drifted away from the rest and wander alone. It's why I came
to help you. I'd come to the aid of any of my old race. And now," it added
more hopefully, "maybe you've given me a chance to earn some forgiveness
and at least regain the friendship of the de Dananns.'
"Well, Pooka, you've already earned the friendship of one," Lugh told it
heartily. "And I promise you my friendship and my help for as long as I
may live."
The beings mood lightened with these words. The big lips drew up, forming
a wide, if peculiar, grin once more.
"Young warrior, I've not heard fairer words from a man in many years. I
thank you. Now, tell me your name."
"I am called Lugh Lamfada."
And I am Shagian," it returned, thrusting out a forepaw. Lugh saw the intent
and clasped it with his hand. "Now we are bound, and I promise you that I'll
serve you as faithfully." It nodded toward the skewered rabbits. "But for
now, you'd best see to your food."
The meat was nearly done, and Lugh pulled one of the carcasses from the
fire.
We 11 be needing to discuss which way you want to go," the 144
DESPERATE MISSIONS
145
Pooka said. "I've learned the country well in my wanderings, and I think I
know most of the de Danann settlements."
"I'm glad of that," Lugh said, greatly thankful for meeting this wondrous
creature. "I lost my own charts when I was attacked."
"Then, if you'll leave it to me, I'd say we should—" The Pooka's words
were cut off abruptly as it jerked its head up, cocking the pointed ears
forward to listen. "Did you hear that?" it asked.
"I didn't hear anything," said Lugh. To him, the morning woods were silent
except for the normal calls of birds.
"Odd," said the Pooka in a distracted way. "I was certain I heard it. Almost
as if someone were calling me. But faint and far away." It shrugged the
narrow shoulders in a very human gesture. "Ah well, no matter."
"I don't know," said Lugh, not willing to take any more risks. 'The Fomor
are still after me, you know."
"They're not clever enough to follow us here," Shaglan assured him.
"Not the Eirelanders maybe, but they've the help of those from the Tower of
Glass."
"Have they?" the Pooka said, impressed. "Well then, maybe I should do a
bit of scouting to be certain they're nowhere about." It climbed to its feet.
"You finish that food and rest a bit more. When I return, we can be off."
It rose and headed into the trees. Even in its strange form, it moved with
grace and silence, Lugh noted. He pulled himself more upright against a
tree bole and began to gnaw on the roasted rabbit. It was tough and lean and
stringy, but to the famished lad it tasted marvelous.
He allowed himself a few moments of complete relaxation as he ate. For the

first time since losing the Riders, things seemed to be going his way. He
actually felt hopeful again. He hadn't really done so badly, after all. He had
been scorched and battered and torn and nearly killed three times, but he
had survived. He had found help and a way to continue his mission. He
didn't feel much the Champion, but at least he wouldn't fail in the task
Manannan and his destiny had set for him.
He finished both the rabbits and rested a bit. But soon he found himself
fretting about the Pooka. It certainly was taking a long time getting back.
Then he sat up abruptly, listening intently. This time he, too had heard a
distant cry. But it was a sound that he recognized. It was the shrill neigh of
a frightened horse.
Ignoring his stiffness and soreness in his alarm, he jumped to his feet, drew
the Answerer, and ran through the woods toward the sound. It changed its
nature as he went, from neigh to bellow to shrill scream to roar, each a bit
louder and more desperate than the last.
The sound was just ahead of him now, and he burst through a last screen of
brush into a tiny open spot on the trail. Across it, tangled in a snare of
heavy ropes, hung the form of a bedraggled animal that looked somewhat
like a lion. It was spinning slowly in the tangle its struggles had created.
And as it swung toward him and he saw its eyes, he realized it was the
Pooka caught there.
Without considering further, he ran forward to give the being his aid. But as
it saw him it cried out in warning:
"Lugh, get back! It's a trap for you!"
The warrior leaped away as another snare was triggered beneath his feet,
yanking up the net of ropes that would have caught him as surely as it had
the Pooka. He moved to the center of the open space and swung around to
see scores of figures burst from the woods on every side.
He was surrounded by the horrible, grinning faces of the Fomor.
"This time we'll be taking no chances with you," one of them announced.
Fifty spear and sword points were directed toward Lugh, forming a solid,
bristling ring, "You'll surrender to us now, or you will die."
Lugh turned, casting his gaze around him as the circle began slowly to close
in. He saw no chances of escape this time. His new hopes were gone. Still,
he would never let them take him to Balor any way but dead.
As he lifted his glowing sword and set himself for his last battle, his final
thoughts were of Aine. He would have wished to see her once again, he told
himself regretfully. What a fool he had been!
Then, at a sharp command, the Fomor drove forward together in attack.
DESPERATE MISSIONS
XVII
MANANNAN'S ISLE
THE TINY CRAFT of Lugh's comrades flitted through the heavy

mysterious fog.
Gi!la, as usual, was humming merrily, but the Dagda watched around him
constantly, warily. He didn't like this fog at all.
"There's things living in here, I've heard," he said. "How do you know
they'll not attack us?"
"Manannan will see to that," Gilla assured him.
"And just how will he do that?" the Dagda challenged. "It's not likely he
even knows we're here. He can't see us, can he?"
"He knows," said Gilla. "He's a most powerful man.^It's hard to believe
anyone could be quite so amazing, really!"
"I can hardly wait to meet this being," the Dagda said with some sarcasm.
"Well, I'm anxious to meet him," Findgoll said. "I've many questions to ask
him. Why, just take this boat!" He had been examining the little vessel
carefully for some time, shaking his head and muttering in awed tones. "It
looks very plain, but for it to sail so swiftly, to carry our weight so easily,
and to turn with such agility must take great magic indeed."
"You could credit my marvelous steering just a bit," Gilla said, pretending
to be hurt.
"What was that?" the Dagda said suddenly, shifting forward to peer out into
the curling white. There had been a brief splash of water there, like a wave
striking against something.
"Just a fish leapin'" the clown said.
"Look there!" cried Angus, pointing past the stem.
A great hump had popped to the surface there and a long neck, like a
serpent thicker than a man, had risen, lifting a flat head. It gazed on them
with tiny, glinting eyes for an instant and then, as silently and swiftly as it
had come, slid back beneath the waves.
"That was no fish," the Dagda stated boldly. 146
147
"I'll agree to that, right enough," said Gilla. "Some pet of the great Sea-
God's, no doubt. Harmless to us."
There was a soft bump against the right side of the bow, shifting the course
of the small boat slightly.
"What struck us?" Findgoll wondered. He peered over the side.
"Careful, there, warned the suspicious Dagda. "Something may leap up and
snap off your head!"
A second bump on the right shifted the craft again. The fearless little Druid
leaned across that side to look.
"Why, there's a large fish of some kind down there," he said. "It's swimming
right along with us, bold as you please."
"There's another here," said Angus, on the left. "It looks as if it's escorting
us along, swimming at the surface."
"They may be planning an attack on us," the Dagda said with some concern,
lifting his war-ax.
"Ah, they're only friendly dolphins," Gilfa said, laughing at the big man's
alarm. "They're pilots for us, using those great, flat noses of theirs to put our
boat on the right course through this fog. They're helping us. Can't I
convince you that we're safe here? Manannan will see nothing happens to
us."
"Clown, I don't see what it is that gives you such great confidence in him."
"He's promised to help us," was the clown's simple answer.
"That may be enough for you, but not for me," the wily old veteran said
darkly. "I don't know him or why he should help us. Until I see his cauldron
and hear him tell us to take it along with his good wishes, I'll keep myself
on guard, if you don't mind." And to make his point more clear, he laid his
massive war-ax across his knees.
"Do as you wish," Gilla said, grinning, "but, believe me, what I've said is as
true as if you'd heard it from Manannan himself."
To that the champion only grunted in reply.
"If you're so knowing of this Sea-God's realm," said Angus, "how much
longer is it to his isle?"
"Look ahead," Gilla advised.
There was a sudden brightening of the mist from grey-white to luminescent

pearl, and then it was gone, the little boat tearing through the final layer of
it like a fine blade cutting through a filmy cotton shroud. In an instant they
were in the open sea, and the band of fog was rising up behind them in a
high, solid barrier wall.
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DESPERATE MISSIONS
149
Before them was a low, sun-flooded isle, a soft green land with slopes rising
in lush swells to restful blue-grey hills, forested and rich.
"There it is," Gilla announced triumphantly. "Manannan's Isle. And, thanks

to our pilots, I think the landing place is right ahead."
The little ship swept them smoothly in through the shore waves to a lazy
curve of beach nestled between widespread, welcoming arms of land. The
vessel ran up onto the smooth shore and grounded gently, with only a
whispering hiss. Angus leaped out first and drew the vessel above the
inward rushing of the waves.
Then the others climbed out.
"There," said Gilla. "Now, didn't I tell you we'd come here safe, and with
almost no trouble at all!"
"I'm still waiting until it's all ended," the Dagda told him stubbornly. He
retained a ready grip upon his weapon as he looked around him carefully.
Morrigan, who had not spoken once during the voyage, now took a breath
of air and spread wide her arms, lifting up the dark cloak in a gesture of
freedom and obvious relief. It was the most expressive sign of human frailty
that Gilla had ever seen the raven-woman show.
"Are you certain this is the right place?" the Dagda asked. "I don't see any
signs of life. Where does this Sea-God live?"
"His home is that way," said Gilla, waving ahead. "Lugh showed me when I
visited here with him. That's where we'll find the cauldron."
"Lead on, then," the champion ordered. "The sooner I see this being, the
sooner I'll feel better about all this."
Obediently, Gilla led them up a narrow pathway that went inland from the
shore. It crossed a low ridge of hills that opened beyond into broad, flat
plains of grass flowing away in their own sea to the misty hills.
Gilla pointed ahead, toward the middle of the plains.

"There it is," he said. "Manannan's Sidhe."
"Sidhe?" Angus repeated.
"That's the name of the place where the Sea-God dwells,' the clown
explained.
The de Dananns looked ahead in puzzlement. They didnt understand at first

what they were seeing. In the center of the level plain was only a large,
smooth swell of grass-covered hill.
"What is it you're telling us, fool?" the Dagda said irritably. "There's
nothing there. Only that hill."
"The Sidhe is that hill," Gilla told him. "Come on."
As they moved closer to it, they recognized that what Had seemed a natural
hill was far too even, too rounded. They were looking at an artificial
mound, but one of enormous size.
"Those strange warriors who came to Eire with Lugh," said Findgoll
thoughtfully, "they are called Riders of the Sidhe. Was it from this place,
from Manannan that they came?"
"They did," Gilla admitted. "I told you that Manannan meant to give you
aid."
"But why didn't Lugh, or you, tell us before?" said the Dagda.
"It wasn't meant to be revealed then," Gilla answered simply. "But now
there are many things you will have to discover." Including, he thought, the
true identity of your foolish companion. He smiled inwardly, anticipating
the effect this would have on them, especially the Dagda.
They continued along the path to the hill and up the side into an opening, a
square passageway that led them into the dim interior of the mound. As the
sunlight faded behind them, the darkness grew, along with the Dagda's
wariness. It was too good a place for them to be taken in ambush again.
Then, with an abruptness that did take the visitors by surprise, the tunnel
opened into an enormous space.
The company found itself looking down on and across the inside of a vast
room with a dome-shaped roof. Clearly the interior of the hollow hill. Some
lightweight construction unknown to them formed a sweeping curve of
latticework to support the outer skin of earth. It was so large—actually, it
seemed to them somehow much larger within than without— that it
encompassed an entire countryside. Spreading out before them were rolling
meadows, lakes, streams, woods, a whole complex landscape. It was, in
fact, its own tiny world enclosed, complete with growing crops and grazing
herds of sheep and cows.
Light was admitted through the highest point of the dome, which from the
inside looked open to the sky.
"This ... is his home?" asked the Dagda, openly stunned.
"It is all a bit much, don't you think?" said Gilla critically. "It's never
seemed very comfortable to me. Not like a real home at all. Wants a few
cozy places, it does. A fireplace and a few pieces of furniture. Maybe a
tapestry or two. Still, I suppose it's shelter from the rain and snow."
"I think it's magnificent," said Findgoll, delighted. "But it's 150
DESPERATE MISSIONS
clearly not a real place. I mean, it must be magic that created it. A very
powerful magic. A nature-controlling magic."
He looked around him and considered, his little face puckering with his
thoughtfulness.
"And it's very familiar, somehow," he went on, sensing something in the
aura of the place he couldn't define. "I feel a sort of comfort here that I've
felt before." He looked to his comrades. "Don't you feel it?"
Angus shrugged, but Morrigan nodded sharply.
"As if we'd been here before," she rasped in an oddly softened voice,
peering around her with glittering eyes.
The suspicious Dagda was too busy examining the place for dangers to let
such ephemeral notions interest him.
"Where is Manannan?" he asked impatiently. "Where is the cauldron? We

must be hurrying."
"I think that they'll be showing us from here," said the clown.
For, out of the country below them, a strange party of beings was now
moving up to meet them.
Although they appeared to be human women, they resembled more a

gathering of butterflies around autumn flowers. They drifted, floated,
almost seemed to glide upward, on the gentle slope that led to the visitors'
high point of entrance. All were in light, flowing gowns of warm, rich
browns and reds and golds that shifted constantly, like fall leaves rustling in
a breeze.
From somewhere music drifted upward with them, too, a iight and cheerful
air, filling the watchers with a sense of ease and a renewed vitality, washing
away their weariness and care. The women moved to its rhythms with an
extraordinary grace, a youthful Utheness that combined a dance and a
natural exuberance for life.
Angus found it quite sensual, and watched the approaching company with
intense interest. He noted the women were all quite beautiful, with elegantly
sculptured features, high foreheads, and large, luminous eyes. Their hair
was mostly very fair, unbound in great waves about their shoulders.
The young warrior had never seen their like before, never heard such music.
But this was not true of his father and the other de Dananns.
"Now I understand why I found the aura of this place familiar," Findgoll
said in amazement. "These women are of the
151
Blessed Isles." He looked around him again. "This place is a home of

Queen Danu s people!"
"But here?" asked the Dagda, himself bewildered by this discovery. "Why?
Is Manannan MacLir from the Four Cities as
well?"
All the visitors looked at Gilla at once. The clown only shrugged and
grinned in his familiar, silly way.
"My friends, I think it's soon enough that you'll have the answers to all
those questions," he promised.
The Dagda was about to demand to know how the clown was so certain
about that, but he had no chance. The crowd of women came around them
then, caught them up, and softly engulfed them in a warm, welcoming
wave.
Angus looked around, falling quickly within the sensuous spell they cast.
Smiling faces swirled around him. Light hands brushed his cheek, bodies
and flowing gowns caressed his, and a captivating scent surrounded him.
"These are the people of Tir-na-nog?" he said in a dreamy way. "I'm sorry
now I wasn't born before we left there."
"Easy, lad," Findgoll warned. "The people of Danu are lovers of all the
pleasures of life, but it can become a bit heady for us mortal beings. Like
too much of even the finest ale can.
Angus shook off the trance that had nearly claimed him and took a firmer
hold upon his wits.
Though the visitors noted nothing odd in the behavior of the women, the
disguised Guardian of the Sidhe did. There was something stiff in their
movements, something frozen and fixed in the wide smiles and the bright
eyes.
And there were rather fewer welcomers than he'd expected. His faithful
followers normally swarmed to greet him on his returns, nearly drowning
him in lavish affection. Of course, he had always found all that quite an
irritant—rather like being assaulted by a pack of exuberant puppies—and
had often been harsh in telling them to leave off such embarassing displays.
Apparently his warnings had worked . . . perhaps too well, These few
women now seemed to be going through the motions without any real
enthusiasm. He wondered if he had gone too far. He actually missed the
rampant joy.
With gentle pressure, the bright company began to direct the visitors
forward.
Looking rather like a bull surrounded by a flock of birds, the Dagda

glowered around him.
"What is this? Where are they wanting us to go?"
152
"To where your questions will be answered, I'd say," Gilla replied.
So, reluctantly, the big man allowed them to herd him along.
From the entrance to the mound, they moved down into the heart of the
enclosed realm. They passed fields of plants of vivid colors and exotic
shapes unknown in the colder climes of Eire. They moved through a grove
of trees with smooth, limbless boles and leaves like crowns of sharp spikes.
Marvelous and varied types of beasts moved all about them. Gaudily
plumaged birds swooped above, creatures in fur or scales scampered from
their path. From one tree a being like a tiny and very hairy human hung by
its tail and jabbered at them. To the companions of Angus, these sights were
only more reminders of the mystical land where they had once dwelt for a
time. But to him, they were fabulous things that he had only heard about in
childhood tales, not really believing.
Now he believed. He sensed that, in such a magical place, anything was

possible.
It was the people here who intrigued the young warrior the most. He saw
more women, and men as well, playing in the fields, minding the grazing
herds, tending the gardens and the planted areas. Along the edge of a small,
clear pond, a group played at musical instruments—pipes and harps and
some pieces he didn't know. It was they who created the melodies that filled
the air.
"Everyone here seems so content," he remarked.
"Oh, that they are," Findgoll told him. "They laugh, love, enjoy, care for the
living things, and draw their own powers from nature itself. Violence and
hatred, fear and pain, are unknown to them."
"Now you can see why we had to leave them," the Dagda put in gruffly. "In
time all our own people would have become like them."
"Would that have been so bad?" Angus wondered, again falling under the
seductive charms of the Sidhe.
"Wake up, boy!" the Dagda said sharply. "You sound like Bobd Derg! This
isn't the way for us. It's their way. We must make our own."
Shocked back to reality, Angus understood. Still he sighed in regret. "It

would be nice, though, to want only peace."
"Someday we may have it," his father said. "But we must DESPERATE
MISSIONS
153
earn it. For now, in our world, the lack of a fighting spirit is deadly."
"Too much peace can be deadly in its way too," Gilla added. "For a man
like you, Angus, this life would become boring very soon.'
"I'd like to find that out myself," the young warrior responded with a smile.
By now the company had nearly reached the center of the Sidhe. As they
came around a final grove of strange trees, they could see ahead a small,
neatly rounded mound, a miniature of the outside of the Sidhe itself It was
in the very center of the circular space, directly beneath the opening of the
dome. Atop its smooth surface was a circle of upright stones. It was clearly
toward this spot that they were making their way.
"It must be there that we'll meet Manannan," said Findgoll with growing
excitement.
"That you will," Gilla assured him.
They splashed across a last, shallow brook and mounted the gentle slope to
the top. The standing stones were shoulder-high pillars spaced evenly in a
large ring, encompassing most of the level space. In a tight cluster near the
center of this ring were another group of the Sidhes inhabitants. Men this
time, dressed in simple white tunics and trousers edged with silver design.
As the visitors came up to the stones, this party moved forward to meet
them.
The Dagda eyed them narrowly, wondering which of these fresh, boyish-
faced men could be the great Manannan.
"Welcome," a tall, slender, golden-haired youth amongst them said. "Please

come forward, into our sacred ring."
The men moved back to let the visitors pass through them. The company of
women remained outside the stones.
Gilla led the others forward, but as he passed the men, he stopped in
puzzlement. Before him, in the center of the circle, were only the burned-
out remains of a fire.
He whirled about to look at the gathered people of the Sidhe, now bunched
at the edge of the ring, watching them with those fixed, bright smiles.
"The cauldron!" he said sharply. "The spear! They're gone!"
Their smiles faded at that. They exchanged fearful glances. Then the same
young man spoke.
154
"I am sorry," he said with welling sadness. "We had no choice."
"No choice at all!" another, iron voice suddenly clanged out in the vast
silence of the Sidhe.
And from beyond the sheltering mound, a vast dark figure rose suddenly
into view, fixing upon them the searing red light of the single, blazing eye.
BOOKIE
BATTLE FOR THE SIDHE
XVIII
BALOR'S SURPRISE
FROM HIDING PLACES in the Sidhe all around the mound, scores of
grey-clad Fomor soldiers, led by Balor's chief officer, Sital Salmhor,
charged forth to encircle the little band.
But even those brief seconds were enough for Morrigan to begin her
transformation.
"Stop her!" Salmhor yelled as he saw the shimmering light envelop her.
"Seize her before she changes!"
His soldiers tried, but they met the weapons of Gilla, Angus, and the Dagda,
who had formed a defensive triangle around Morrigan and Findgoll.
The swift movement of thier weapons knitted a fence of iron that kept the
attackers back and gave Morrigan the extra time she needed to complete her
change and lift upward, powerful black wings pumping to pull her clear.
The soldiers looked up helplessly as she rose far above their heads and
began a straight climb upward, laboring toward the opening at the top of the
dome.
"She'll try to fly out!" the officer shouted. "Bowmen, take positions. Shoot
her down."
Two dozen bowmen moved from the lower ground onto the clear area on
the mound's side. Two dozen of the lethal crossbows lifted upward to take
careful aim at the large black bird slowly, desperately, fighting its way
toward that high circle of light that meant freedom.
She was nearly to it now. The officer below lifted his hand and prepared to
give the order to fire.
She glanced down and saw them. Knowing what to expect, she waited until
the bolts were released and then she veered sharply aside. The bolts
whooshed by her in a flock. Then,
157
158
before they could reload, she had swept back upward toward the top of the
dome.
Sital Salmhor watched in frustration as the great raven reached the opening
and glided through, banking quickly away out of sight beyond.
Balor had kept his attention on the others of the party still holding his
soldiers at bay on the mound. He swept his deadly eye across them again,
lifting the lid the slightest fraction. The increase of heat was like a column
of red-hot metal thrusting at them. The Fomor pulled back away from it.
"Now, the rest of you, surrender to me immediately, or 111 destroy you

where you stand!"
Gilla and his comrades tried to glare boldly into the intense light, unafraid,
but their bodies were already soaked with
sweat.
"Why should we give up?" the Dagda challenged. "You'll kill us anyway."
"I see your point," Balor agreed. The eye shifted again, bringing the
crimson beam to rest on the knot of Manannan's people. They faced it
stolidly, but it was clear the heat was
painful to them.
"Would you rather watch them flare up one by one, like moths caught in a
flame?" the dark giant asked without emotion.
"I think he's got us," the disguised Sea-God said resignedly,
"We can't let him destroy these people."
"You're right," the Dagda said. He dropped his war-ax to the ground.
"You've won, Balor."
The lid dropped to a hairline slit, cutting off the heat. The gaze came back
to the little band from Eire.
"Predictable," Balor commented. "Your own foolish codes of honor defeat

you.
Salmhor, have their weapons gathered."
The Fomor officer directed his men to take up the weapons dropped by the
prisoners. The soldiers formed a bristling wall
around them.
"You must think of us as very dangerous men," Gilla commented dryly.
"I will admit," said the Commander's hollow, clanging voice, "that you must
be more tenacious then I believed. I never thought you would get this far."
"Sorry to say, we had to break two of your iron playthings BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
159
while we were about it," the clown said, grinning up at the looming figure.
"They can be replaced," Balor replied with no faint note of interest. "And it
does appear that all your bravery was for
nothing."
"What do you mean?" the Dagda asked. "We only came here to do a bit of
visiting with the Sea-God."
"You came here to fetch a magical cauldron from this 'Sea-God' and take it
back to save your people," Balor replied, each word a hammer stroke. "You
have failed. Your warriors will remain starved and weak, easy prey to the
forces of Bres. He will at last have his way—the final, total annihilation of
the de Danann race."
"How do you know our mission, Balor?" Findgoll asked boldly. "How did
you learn about Manannan's Isle?"
"1 have my own methods," the giant answered. "They told me that
Manannan was helping you. It was then I decided to visit this little isle. It
has plagued my ships long enough. I discovered that the great terrors that
guard his domain were no match for my powers." The eye flared wickedly.
"It took only a day to burn our path through his band of mists. Though—
how did you put it?—I'm afraid the 'Sea-God' will have several less
playthings himself. The absurd sea creatures were too stubborn to run."
The disguised "Sea-God" opened his mouth to reply, but held himself back.
"It took two days of searching to discover this mound was a dwelling and to
find a way in," the Commander went on. "The absurdity of his creatures and
his mists are matched only by the complete idiocy of this place." The
massive head swung slowly, sweeping the red gaze around the vast space.
"It is totally impractical, defenseless, useless, filled with these unnecessary
plants and these poor, childlike beings!" The gaze flicked across the
huddled inhabitants again. "They ran like frightened does when we arrived.
We'd managed to gather up only a few of them when you were seen
arriving. These captives were told that they and you would die immediately
if they failed to act normally when you entered. I wanted no chance of your
escaping again. It worked quite well too. They're very docile."
The crimson eye moved back to the adventurers. "You know, 160
your journey here was futile from the start. This Manannan's powers are so
weak, they would have been little use to you."
Stung by this harsh criticism, the clown-dressed Manannan was forced to a

response.
"Maybe this Manannan hasn't really used his powers on you," he suggested.
"And why not?" Balor countered. "No, fool, he has no powers. He has run
away with the others."
"You mean, you haven't captured him?" Findgoll asked.
"It is only a matter of time," the giant replied without concern in the
booming voice. "We'll search him out and discover this cauldron, if it truly
exists."
Manannan's heart lifted with new hope at these words. So they had not
found the cauldron! That meant his own people had managed to spirit it and
the magic spear away to some hiding place. There was still hope.
"I'm surprised you don't know where they are," he said mockingly to the
threatening dark figure in the foolish manner of Gilla. "I thought the mighty
Balor knew everything!"
"Your obvious madness is all that saves you from my wrath, clown," Balor
clanged, his eye bathing the lanky figure with the red glow. "I know it was
you who invaded my Tower with young Lugh. You will yet pay for that. For
now, be silent."
"But, what about us, Balor?" the Dagda demanded. "Why are you keeping
us alive?"
"You may have your uses," he said. "But we'll have to deal with them later.
I've wasted enough time on you now."
He looked toward the Fomor officer. "Salmhor, have the guard take them all
away and keep a watch on them. Especially our visitors from Eire,"
"At once, Commander."
Salmhor signaled and a troop of men appeared from behind Balor, moving
around him to the mound's crest. They were clothed in the same uniforms,
but wore tight skullcaps of silver. Instead of the regular Fomor weapons,
each carried a thick, lance-shaped device with a round, shining ball fitted to
the head.
The men looked hard and strong and disciplined, but their weapons seemed
very little threat.
As they circled the prisoners, the regular Fomor troops withdrew to the
bottom of the hill. These guards numbered only a score. Half of them
surrounded the band from Eire while the others moved in around the
inhabitants of the Sidhe.
161
They began to herd the people of Manannan away. They did it quite
roughly, with shoves and blows from the butt ends of thier strange weapons.
One of the slender young women was actually knocked from her feet by
this harsh treatment. When Angus saw this, he reacted angrily, charging
forward to her aid.
"Let her alone, you—"
One of the guards moved in, thrusting forward with the ball end of his
lance.
Angus ducked away, bringing up his arm to deflect the weapon. The ball
touched him lightly on his shoulder.
There was a sharp crackle, and he was jerked violently backward, thudding
heavily to the ground.
The Dagda bellowed in rage and advanced, but three more soldiers
surrounded him and threatened him with their weapons. He stopped, eyeing
them uncertainly. Meanwhile, Findgoll moved to Angus, kneeling at his
side to examine the young man. He was awake, his eyes glazed by the
energy that had stunned him.
"He's alive," the little Druid announced.
"Certainly," Balor remarked tonelessly. "The prods are only to encourage

obedience, unless I order them used to kill. But I advise you not to
challenge these men. They are my private guard. You'll find them to be
highly trained."
Angus shook his head to bring himself back to full consciousness and
climbed to his feet, determined not to show his pain. He eyed Balor stolidly,
forcing back the urge to clutch his tingling arm.
"Now, if you're finished with your futile gestures of bravery, you will go
with my guards."
The little group exchanged looks of agreement. There was nothing else they
could do now. They moved away at the direction of the guards without
further argument.
The glowing red eye of Balor followed them off the mound. Then it
swiveled to Sital Salmhor.
"And you, get those other troops back at the search," the hard voice ordered.
"I want this entire area covered and all its inhabitants brought to me! Do it
if you have to tear everything apart. I want that cauldron and I want
Manannan MacLir!"
Lugh's battle was savage, desperate, and final.
Knowing he couldn't win, the young warrior fought wildly, 162
163
swinging the great Answerer in both hands, making bold, deadly sweeps
about him at the circle of nightmare foces.
The very numbers of the Fomor horde told against them, for they were
pressed in tightly, and it hampered their movement and use of weapons. But
their thick, bunched bodies were easy marks for the gleaming blade hewing
through them, carving trails of blood. Around the swiftly moving champion,
the bodies piled up.
Still, Lugh knew it was only a matter of time. He was already weak. The
surge of energy that had carried him into this fight was ebbing away. He had
a score of new wounds, minor but all draining his blood until his body
shone pinkly with the crimson mixed in his sweat.
Above him, the Pooka itself was struggling desperately to tear free of the
woven strands. But its efforts only entangled it further. Seeing Lugh's
strength waning, his swings growing more labored, it shouted
encouragement to him.
"Don't give up, Lugh. Hold on! Help is coming!"
Lugh didn't think the Pooka was going to free itself in time to help him.
And if it did, it would only be killed itself. Yet he fought on, putting his will
into holding the Fomor off just another moment. It was a game, his weary
mind thought. A final and very deadly game for him.
Tlie end came suddenly. A Fomor dove forward, impaling himself on the
Answerer which tore out through his back. He fell, his heavy body dragging
the weapon down. Lugh yanked back on it, but in the brief movement, his
guard was down. A second Fomor drove in, his blade plunging deeply into
Lugh's side.
Lugh freed his sword and staggered back, pulling himself off the point with
a grunt of pain. He managed to sweep the Answerer up, slicing the Fomor's
boar face across the snout. But still off balance, badly slowed, he couldn't
turn fast enough to parry another assault from the rear. A short, burly,
sluglike warrior leaped upon his back, striking downward with a dagger.
It hit the shoulder blade and glanced oft, slipping sideways instead of
sinking straight in. It didn't kill Lugh outright, but it finished him. He
shuddered and all his strength went from him. As the Fomor dropped back,
he fell forward, thudding to his knees, then toppled face down onto the
blood-soaked earth.
He lay there, eyes open, conscious, but no longer able to move. Resigned to
death, he passively awaited the final blow.
It didn't come.
There was some confusion around him. There were shouts and a loud
clashing of arms and the screams of men. He grew impatient waiting for his
death. With the strength of his left arm—his right seemed not to work—he
rolled himself onto his side and managed to lift his head to see just what
was holding these incompetent beings up.
He discovered that they were all facing away from him now, apparently
engaged in some confused and violent struggle with another force more
deadly than themselves. He saw the glint of weapons rise and fall, saw
bodies crashing down in the packed mass. An arm, severed above the
elbow, fell before his face, fingers still working to grasp a vanished sword.
Finally one Fomor detached itself from the rest and turned toward him. He
looked up into a grinning shark-face and watched with calm detachment as
the warrior lifted an already bloodied longsword to make the final stroke.
At last, Lugh thought with a certain relief. The release from all this pain.
And just in time. He needed a good rest.
But then that face was swept away by the blow of a battle-ax that dissolved
it in a spray of red. Another face loomed up instead, a very peculiar sort of
face, not human, yet not monstrous. A friendly face. A face he knew.
The Pooka!
Curious, Lugh thought. It couldn't be here. It was some kind of fancy his
dying was causing him.
I told you help would come," it said, its voice a wavering, distant blur of
sound.
Now Lugh knew he was in some final dream, for up beside the Pooka's
broad face rose two others, bright and hazy like full moons rising on a misty
night. The faces of Taillta and Aine.
165
THE OLD FIRBOLG shaman tightened the binding about Lugh's waist.
The young warrior moaned softly with the pain of movement. Already his
blood was soaking through the linen in a bright stain against the white.
They were back within the tiny clearing where the Pooka made his home. It
was dark now, and above, the thick, arching branches of the encircling
gnarled oaks seemed to form a solid roof lit to golden by many torches and
a great fire.
Around the edge of the circular clearing, like silver idols set in the niches of
some temple, the Riders of the Sidhe were spaced precisely, motionless,
lances up, glowing with their own soft white radiance. Around them were
grouped the warriors of the Firbolg tribe, the braver within the Riders'
circle, the more timid well behind them in the more sheltered, more familiar
surroundings of the trees.
Across the fire from Lugh and the shaman sat the Pooka, back now in a
roughly ponylike form, sitting on its haunches and watching its new friend
being treated, great concern clear in its liquid brown eyes. Beside it stood
Taillta and Aine, their faces betraying their own anxiety.
His ministrations completed, the shaman sat back on his heels and smiled
down at the young man.
"There, lad," he said soothingly. "I've done all that I can for you."
"I know you have," Lugh told him graciously. His voice was irritatingly
weak to him, and even forcing this much out was an eflbrt, "I thank you for
what you've done, here and before."
"Well, you rest now," the man said, putting as much encouragement into his
tone as he could summon. "You'll be feeling much better soon."
But as he rose and turned away toward the two women his smile
disappeared and he shook his head.
164
He passed around the fire to them, his face now registering a deep gloom.
"What is it? Aine demanded, not wanting to accept the facts she had already
guessed.
"The wounds are very bad. Neither one nor both would kill him. But he was
already weakened, and he has suffered a great deal." He looked regretfully
toward Lugh. "I'm afraid that what I can do for him is much too little."
"Too little?" Taillta repeated sharply. "I can remember your healing powers
from my youth. It was said you could save any warrior not already in his
grave!"
"My powers can't overcome those of life and death. Not even those of the
greatest de Danann physicians can do that. Perhaps I can heal his wounds,
but only if he wills it. Only his own spirit can help him to live."
"Well, he's certainly not going to die!" Aine told him firmly, "That I'll not
allow."
She and Taillta went to Lugh's side, kneeling down beside the silent form.
He seemed asleep, and Aine was struck by how young he seemed, his face
relaxed, the marks of weariness and wear softened by the fire's light. He
looked like the innocent and frightened boy she had first seen in Tara's hall,
boldly facing the treacherous Bres. How much had happened to them since!
His eyes fluttered open as he sensed the presences near him. He looked
toward the two women and his face lit with his
joy.
"Ah, it's very glad I am to be seeing you again," he said with such great
depth of feeling that Aine felt the tears welling into her eyes. She blinked
them back, putting on a hearty, matter-of-fact manner.
"You look well enough, considering your adventures," she told him. "You'll
have to be getting up soon. There's a mission you've got to complete, and
there's little time."
He smiled faintly at this but didn't reply. Instead he asked: "But how did
you find me?"
"It was the Pooka," Taillta said. "Aine used her powers over the animals to
call them and have them help us search for you. The Pooka heard her call
and came to us. He told us where you were. We sent him back to tell you
we were on our way to you. That's when he was caught. But we arrived
soon after. My Fir-bolgs destroyed the whole Fomor band."
166
"How did you get their help?" Lugh wondered.
"Taillta is now the chieftain of their tribe!" Aine announced proudly, "She
killed their old leader. He'd betrayed her father to the Fomor long ago."
"I remember him," said Lugh. "And Lknow the skill of the woman who
taught me to fight. I would like to have wagered on that match."
He laughed at this, but he started coughing. The strain on his back wound
drew him up sharply with the pain. His smile vanished and he sank back,
paler, weaker, more of his vital spirit drained away.
Anguished, helpless, the two women could only watch. After a few
moments, he found the energy to speak again.
"Aine," he said, lifting a hand to her. She grasped it in both of hers. It was
very cold. "Aine, I'm happy you found me. I'm happy that the Riders
weren't destroyed. Now I'll know that the mission can still go on, even
though I've failed in it."
"You haven't failed," she told him firmly. "You couldn't have avoided this. It
wasn't your fault."
"It was. I was a fool. I shouldn't have gone into that ringfort like some
curious young pup. I let myself be trapped."
"If anyone is a fool, it's Manannan. He shouldn't have made you go alone. I
should have been with you."
"No!" he said. "In that he was right. Better that you were safe, that you
could go on. If he was wrong, it was in thinking me a champion."
"You are," she insisted.
"No, Aine. I don't believe that. I never have. It was my wanting to help the
de Dananns, my thinking that I really was meant to succeed that made me
go on.
Now I see that my destiny was false. It was luck that got me as far as it did.
That and your help. Now I've no luck left. I've made the de Dananns' defeat
the more certain. They need no more of such a champion as that."
"I've never heard you talk like this before," she said in despair.
"Too much has happened to me, Aine. It's worn me out. I don't want to try
to fight it anymore. I only want to rest."
She looked into that pale face, aged by the marks of pain as he forced
himself to speak. She knew that it was her own brother's use of him that had
finally broken his courageous
167
heart. This time she couldn't stop the tears that rose in her eyes, slipping
down to draw their gleaming trails across her cheeks.
He lifted up his hand and touched the softness of one cheek, gently wiping
away the tear with his caress.
"The only regret I had in dying here was that we'd last parted in anger, and
that I'd not see you again to ask if you forgive me."
"You know I do," she said. "And nothing will ever keep me from your side
again."
He shook his head. "No. That can't be. You have to go on from here. Take
the Riders. Complete the mission or the de Dananns will be destroyed.
Promise me you will. Promise
The hand slid away. The eyes dropped closed and the face relaxed into lines
of painless repose.
"No, Lugh!" Aine cried out in her agony. "Don't die. I love you!"
She dropped her head forward, pressing her lips to his with such intensity it
seemed she meant to will her own life force into him.
But there was no response.
She looked up wildly at Taillta, who gazed helplessly, tearfully, down at the
boy she had raised. She was a hard and practical woman who had defied
death all of her years, but in the face of this, she too was stricken with
despair.
"Taillta, we can't be too late!" said Aine. "Not after all this! We can't just
watch him die!"
"He is in his last sleep now," the old shaman said gently, moving up beside
them. "At least his end will be a peaceful one."
Aine looked around at the Firbolgs gathered, hushed by the scene, at Taillta
and the shaman, at the Pooka, its ungainly head hung in sorrow. She looked
at the circling Riders and a new determination rose in her,
"No!" she said fiercely. "It is not the end! I will not let this be the end!"
Wiping the streaming tears savagely from her face, she rose to her feet. She
lifted her head toward the canopy of trees and held up her arms. Her voice,
fired by her will, rang out com-mandingly.
168
169
"Mother Danu!" she called. "By all the powers you have given us, by the
task you have set for us, by the forces of Tir-na-nog, I call you here to me."
The occupants of the clearing watched her with curiosity, bewildered by her
strange action, but caught up by the intensity of it. They all stood frozen,
waiting.
Nothing happened.
"Danu!" Aine cried more stridently. "You cannot desert us now. You will
hear me and you will answer me. I demand it!"
A sudden wind swept upon them from the west, soaring through the wood,
yanking the treetops with a brutal force as it boomed through them.
The Firbolgs looked up fearfully toward the sound. Their torches flapped
sharply in the gust, flickering out. Seized by feelings of terror, the warriors
crouched down, pulling their cloaks tightly about them. In the rising wail of
the great wind sweeping above, they heard the keening voices of their
spirits all loosed upon them at once.
Only Aine and the Riders defied the blast. The shining horsemen sat
unmoved, untouched. Aine turned directly into the wind, letting it pull her
cloak away from her slender body, letting it turn her long hair to a
shimmering stream behind her as she set her youthful face in defiant lines.
For she knew that her plea had been heard and answered.
Above the trees now, the torrent of wind was drawing with it a line of heavy
clouds, forming a dense, dark ceiling that blinked out the points of starlight
as it came and pulled a cover across the moon that even its bright glow
couldn't penetrate,
A darkness like a thick black liquid poured into the surrounding woods and
filled them up. The gnarled boles of the encircling trees seemed to melt into
a single, solid wall. The branches interlacing high above seemed to blend
into one great dome of blackness. Soon the dark had made a huge cylinder
of the clearing, sealing all the occupants within.
Once it had formed, the wind died abruptly, cut off as if a door had been
swung closed. An ominous silence fell upon the clearing. It was not a
natural silence, not just the silence of stilled animals and hushed men, but
something more profound. A barrier created by some enormous power had
isolated this place from the realms of mortal men. Contact with another,
secret realm could now safely be made.
Only a single source of light was left within the space. It came from the
Riders of the Sidhe. At first it was a pale silver shimmering, like a winter's
full moon reflecting from a pond, its flickering fragments of brightness
providing an eerie illumination for the scene. But it began to increase
swiftly. The fitful glow became a steady one. The Riders radiated an energy
that seemed generated within, blooming outward, suffusing their forms,
turning their outlines hazy. Then it concentrated, drawing together and
floating upward, climbing from each Riders body along his slender lance to
its point.
There the energy formed into a ball of iridescent light, so intense that it was
nearly blinding, forcing the awed watchers to turn away or shield their eyes.
The terror-stricken Firbolgs trapped within the cylinder of blackness
cowered deeper beneath their cloaks, recalling the last time such a light had
appeared.
As the luminous bubbles swelled to a bursting point, each one erupted with
a bolt of silver lightning that arced across to the lance beside it, then on
around the circle, leaping from point to point. The crackling streaks of
energy left behind slender, glowing tendrils, like threads of finely drawn
silver. They intertwined as they danced about the ring, weaving an intricate
pattern that rested upon the upraised lance points. White radiance flooded
the enclosed space, banishing all shadows, washing away all color,
.drowning everything in a shining pool.
But once the circuits were all completed and the circle closed, the ring of
light began to rise upward. It lifted slowly, forming a silver wall. Just below
the black canopy of trees it began to curve inward gracefully, the circle
shrinking toward the center like the contracting pupil of an eye.
Finally it closed completely and a dome of brightness had been created high
above.
Aine looked up toward it, preparing for what she knew would be coming
now.
For, in the center of that glowing dome, the enormous image of a human
face was beginning to take form.
It was a woman's face, of simple, subtle lines, beautiful in a familiar,

comforting way, like a bright spring afternoon, but awesome, too, like the
marvel of a sunset striking through towering banks of clouds. The staring
old shaman had never seen a face like it. But Taillta and Aine knew it, and
so did the disbelieving Pooka who breathed the name in awe: 170
"Queen Danu!"
The expression of the face was marked by worry now. The soothing,
smooth voice was rippled with concern.
"Aine, what is wrong? Why have you summoned me here?"
"I need you help, Danu," Aine told her tersely, having no time for
graciousness. "Without it, Lugh will die."
The voice and the lustrous golden eyes filled with great sorrow. "I am sorry
for that. But you know I am not able to give you help. My powers to act in
Eire are limited. I am bound by our laws not to interfere. I have already
done everything I can. You know that, Aine. The rest must be done by you
and by the de Dananns alone."
Aine was not to be convinced. Her chin set stubbornly.
"Lugh is dying," she replied forcefully, her passion making her bold. "It is
our fault that he is. We caused him to be here."
"We gave him only the chance to act," Danu reasoned gently. "The choice
was his."
"No!" Aine countered with heat. "The choice was never really his. We've
never truly given him one. From his birth we've manipulated him to bring
him to the point where he had to act. We've made him a tool to serve our
own purposes.
It's our fault."
Danu seemed to take no offense at this. The soft, amiable voice continued
in regretful and reasonable tones.
"I understand why you feel this way, but it is destiny working here, not us.
We are only the instruments of Fate. No act of ours can change it. It will
happen as it must. I am truly sorry, my dear girl. It pains me to be so cruel
in this, but I have no other choice. 1 cannot directly interfere."
"You must," Aine pleaded, desperate now to find some way of convincing
her queen that she could help. "This isn't direct interference, Danu. The de
Dananns must still choose to fight themselves. Lugh can only help them if
they find the will. And, it is the Prophecy that declared he would help them
destroy the Fomor power. The Prophecy has set this fate for him. So, if you
act to make it happen as it is meant to, aren't you only playing out your
proper part?"
The face of the being above was still for a long moment, clearly absorbed in
thought. Aine held her breath, feeling the racing of her heart.
Then, slowly, a smile dawned on the Queens face, like the sun gliding from
behind its masking cloud, bathing all below in
171
its wanning light. And as she spoke again, her voice was also warm with
amusement.
"You are a very clever woman, Aine. I understand more clearly why
Manannan treasures you. You've reasoned very well. All right, then. I will
help you with my powers."
The smile faded, and the Queen's expression turned grave.
"But, believe this: I can heal his wounds, restore the strength to him, but I
cannot save his life despite himself. His spirit is as weakened as his body.
His hope is gone. Without them, the rest is of no worth at all. We must see
if we can reach his inner will and give new life to it."
Her lustrous eyes turned their light upon Lugh. Her voice addressed him in
gently coaxing tones.
"Listen to me, Lugh of the Long Arm. You have chosen to be our
Champion. You cannot desert us now. All Eire is in danger. You must help
to save it. You must give the de Danann people the will to fight. Only you
can do it. Only you!"
The young warrior lay unmoving, his pale, lifeless face not showing the
slightest sign that he had heard.
"Now, Aine," Danu said, "kneel down by him. Place your hands upon his
chest, flat, side by side."
The girl did as she was commanded.
"Through you will go the powers. If he wills them to work, he will be

restored. If not, he will die. In the end, no one can make another's fate for
him. No power is that strong. Do you understand, Aine?"
"Yes, my Queen," she answered.
"Then, good luck to you. I will not be able to give you such help again!"
The face faded, leaving behind the bright dome of glowing light. Then it
fell back, the pupil opening wide again, the ring spreading out as it sank
down upon the Riders of the Sidhe.
As it did, the mystic warriors dropped their lances forward in one

movement.
The silver rings about their hafts jingled with a high, clear music. The
shining lance heads, carrying down their wreath of interweaving lights,
were all pointed toward Aine. She braced herself, ready for the transfer of
magic power. The Riders' glow increased, once more filling the black
cylinder. New strands of light arched out from each spear, joining at the
girl. She felt the energy crackle across her body, tingling her flesh. She
pulsed with it. It flooded over her, drenching her like hot liquid. It coursed
down her bare white
172
arms and they were afire. It collected at her hands, where they pressed to
the chest of the dying Lugh, and made them luminous.
But the force stayed there. It wasn't being absorbed by the young warrior, as
if something in his body were blocking it. She felt it vibrating in her palms
as it pooled and increased there, the light building to a near-blinding
intensity.
"Lugh," she said urgently, leaning closer to him, "it is. up to you!
Remember what the Dagda told us once. The de Dananns must prove their
desire to earn their place, or they will never be anything on their own. If
you give up now, the same will be true of you! You said that you only
wanted to be free to discover your own self. Maybe you aren't a champion,
but you'll never have a chance to discover who you are until you've finished
this. Please, for yourself, fight! Fight!"
The young champion's body began to convulse and he moaned in agony. He

jerked violently back and forth, head twitching as if he were in a frantic
struggle with some unseen force. This ended in an abrupt stiffening as he
thrust his legs out rigidly, clenched his fists, drawing tight his muscles until
the tendons in his neck and limbs stood out sharply, quivering in their
tautness.
It seemed the last, grim stage of his inner struggle, his spirit locked in a
final death grip with his own weakness, every faculty left to him
concentrated in the battle.
Then something within him gave way with the suddenness of a dam's
bursting apart under enormous pressure. The pent-up energy pooled around
Aine's hands gushed forth, sinking down, pouring into his body, filling it up
with such radiance that it shone out from him, turning his flesh a translucent
red through which his bones, his veins, showed as dark lines.
He convulsed again, uttering a sharp cry of pain as if some real fire were
coursing inside him. But this torture was mercifully brief. Soon his body
ceased its thrashing and began to relax. His breathing slowly returned to a
steadier, more normal rate. The light within him faded gradually away and
his color returned to a warm, healthy hue.
Finally his eyes opened. They focused, fixing a gaze of remarkably mild
surprise upon the anxious face of Aine.
He smiled.
"Hello!" he said. "What's wrong? Have I been asleep?"
XX
MANANNAN'S SECRET
LUGH SLID THE Answerer into its sheath and buckled the weapon on.
"Are you certain you're feeling well?" the old shaman asked.
"It's amazing," replied the youth. He gingerly touched the wound in his
side.
"It's still a bit tender there, but it's nearly healed. I'll have quite a scar,
though, to show the others."
Aine smiled. His spirits had been revived along with his strength. He was
anxious to get on now that the Riders had been restored to him.
"We can't be wasting any more time," he said. "We'll have to rush to reach
the other settlements, and even so we'll be late to meet the others returning
with the cauldron. Shall we be going?"
He looked around at them, and then was struck by some factors he'd
overlooked in his renewed enthusiasm to be off
"Oh," he said, looking from his companions to the grey horse, "I just
realized. Can the Riders carry all of us?"
"They won't need to, Lugh," said Taillta gravely.
He looked quizzically at her. "Why not? I want you all with me."
The older woman hesitated, then spoke out straightforwardly. "I've decided
that I'll be staying here."
Lugh looked around at the Firbolgs gathered in the clearing.
^What, stay here?" he asked. "With them?"
"They're my own people, Lugh," she told him. "Its time I was back with
them.
I've been away a very long time."
Lugh's youthful face registered his dismay, "But Taillta, we need you. I
need you. All my life you've been by me, giving your help to me."
You don't need my help anymore. I know that's true, even if you don't
believe it yet yourself. Besides, I've done what I was
173
174
175
meant to do in this. The rest of it is up to you. My part is ended. I've got to

be taking up my own life again."
"Not until the Fomor are destroyed," he argued stubbornly. "You have to
help me get the vengeance for your people."
"I can help more by staying with them." She placed -her hands upon his
arms and spoke firmly. "You must see what it is I'm saying, Lugh. It was the
hope of my father and of yours that the de Dananns live and share Eire in
peace.
They both died for that hope. If I stay here, maybe I can bring the Fir-bolgs
to accept it now. Maybe I can bring them to believe that it is the Fomor who
are our enemies. Then we will join you in seeing them destroyed. But no
matter what happens, I am where I belong."
He looked into her eyes and understood that there would be no argument
with her. She had always been determined, and always right as well.
Reluctantly he nodded his assent. He even managed a smile.
"I will see you again, though," he said. "You will promise me that."
"Of course I will," she assured him. "Now, get yourself ready to go. You
must hurry."
He nodded and moved away from her, leaving Aine to say her own good-
byes. He noticed the Pooka and approached
it.
The creature was standing at the side of the clearing, well removed from the
others, looking a bit neglected and forlorn. The Firbolgs, harboring their
own superstitious fears of the strange beings, stayed very far from it.
As it saw Lugh coming toward it, it brightened visibly.
"I thought you'd forgotten me," it said, "seeing as how you've no need of me
anymore."
"Well, it is true that I don't need your help," Lugh admitted.
Its rising cheer sank again. Its huge, soft nose drooped.
"Oh," it said dismally, "I was expecting as much."
"And it would be dangerous for you if you did go with me,"
Lugh continued.
The whole body sagged in defeat now, the great head hanging forward.
"I suppose that's true," it said dejectedly.
"Still/ Lugh went on matter-of-factly, "if you'd like to go, I'd certainly
welcome your companionship."
The head lifted, the nose springing back.
"Really? Do you mean that? You'd not be tricking a trickster now?
"I would not," Lugh said heartily. "I've pledged my friendship to vou- I
won't break that pledge."
"Then I would like to go with you. I'd be most proud to go!"
"Wait, now!" Aine protested. "You can't take this"—she eyed it critically
—"this thing along with us."
"Why not?" Lugh asked, somewhat shocked by her harsh tone.

"Because he's a Pooka!" Aine exclaimed. "A Pooka's never to be trusted!"
"This one is," Lugh said stoutly.
The Pooka drew itself up and used its wide mouth to flash what it must
have thought a winning smile at her.
"Just look at the evil expression on it," she said. "That's the face of a
deceiver if I've ever seen one."
Lugh examined the Pooka's broad, inane grin and shrugged.
"I don't know," he said. "He rather reminds me of your own brother."
"Manannan's not to be trusted either," she shot back. "Lugh, we're taking
enough risks without having him along with us. What use can he be?"
"You can never tell," Lugh replied. "He does have a talent that might be
useful. He's very anxious to prove himself. And I've a feeling we just may
need him."
She shook her head. "Well, this is all time wasted in our arguing, as there's
no way it can really go with us. It can't ride the grey with us, and it can't
keep up with the Riders on its own."
"But there is a way!" the being enthusiastically added. "Just watch!"
And before their startled gaze, it dwindled suddenly away, shrinking and
altering radically as it did, until, in moments, it was so tiny its exact nature
was impossible to define.
"Pick me up!" a faint, high voice called to them.
Lugh looked toward Aine.
"Go ahead," she offered. "I'm certainly not touching it."
He leaned down and extended a palm. The animal crawled quickly onto it.
He saw that it was a round and furry mouselike being with a pointed pink
snout well equipped with bristling whiskers.
176
"There!" it announced with a certain pride in its equally tiny voice. "I'll not
be any burden to you this way."
Lugh held it out toward Aine. She glanced from the harmless-looking little
beast to him, clearly wavering. Lugh made his final plea.
"Aine, he's saved me twice. He could have left me to die. He could have
abandoned me instead of bringing you. I think he's earned our trust."
She sighed. "All right. All right," she said resignedly. "It can come. But
you'd better see it doesn't come near me!"
"You'll not be disappointed in me," it told her, "that I promise."
Lugh carried it to the waiting horse and opened one of the carrying pouches
slung across its back. He pulled it open and set the small animal carefully
upon the supplies inside.
"You can ride in here comfortably, I think," he said.
"Just don't be nibbling at the food!" Aine warned it, swinging herself lightly
onto the mount.
, Lugh turned for a final good-bye to Taillta. She saw the look on his face as
he approached and knew what he intended. As he raised his arms she put up
a staying hand and spoke firmly.
"None of that, my boy. I'm a chieftain now. How would it seem to these
hard warriors of mine to see me being hugged by you?"
He stopped, abashed by this. But she smiled at him warmly.

"I know what you feel," she said. "I'll always know that. So, no more
sorrow or farewells. Just be off with you. Time's flyin' like the wind itself."
"All right, then," he said, smiling in return. "But I'll be seeing you soon."
He went to the horse and climbed on, settling himself behind Aine for the
swift journey. Both of them lifted hands in a parting wave to Taillta, then
Lugh gave the Riders the command to go.
Taillta moved to the head of the warrior band she now commanded and
watched as the horsemen flowed away in a silver stream through the dark
trees. As they passed from sigJit, she turned to the old shaman and spoke
with authority.
"I'll want the other chieftains gathered for a talk," she told him. "They're all
to know that the daughter of MacErc has returned."
177
He smiled, anticipating their reactions. "There may be those not so happy at

that news."
"Just as well," she answered with satisfaction. "There's little I love so much
as a good fight."
"My father, it may be that the Fomor will fail," Ruadan said earnestly.
Bres looked up from his eating. He and his son were in a small pavilion,
erected for his personal comforts, quite separate from the growing Fomor
army.
"What have you heard that makes you believe so?" the former High-King of
Eire demanded. He had been expecting more positive news from his spy.
"The Riders of the Sidhe returned to Tara unharmed. Lugh was separated
from them, but there is no way to know if he is dead. The girl, Aine, has
taken the Riders. She can complete the mission, call the de Dananns to
host."
"Aine!" Bres said angrily. "She has helped Lugh to thwart me before."
"These special Tower forces may have failed to stop the Dagda's party too,"
Ruadan added. "The survivors of their escort returned to Tara to say they
had been ambushed, but that the Dagda was going on with Morrigan,
Findgoll, Angus, and this clown called Gilla."
"They all escaped?" said Bres in disbelief. "It's as if some charm protected
them!" He slammed a fist to the tabletop in his frustration. "The powers
blast that arrogant Tower lot. A great help all their forces have been to us."
"Be easy. Father," Ruadan said soothingly. "They may yet succeed, And, in
the meantime, they have at least delayed the de Dananns in restoring their
army."
"Perhaps, boy," he said. "Perhaps that will be enough. Our own forces are
gathering faster than I expected. As soon as enough have gathered to
overwhelm the de Dananns, we will march. For you, return to Tara. Keep
up your watch.
Play the innocent servant to Nuada until the very end. When it is ovei; you
can come and take your proper place at my side."
^Too bad about Mother," the boy said. What do you mean?" asked Bres.
The boy fixed his father with a hard, cruel look that nakedly revealed the
Fomor heart behind the puppylike facade.
178
"She is a de Danann," he said flatly. "She will have to die with the rest."
Axes chunked rhythmically into the trunks of the strange trees, cutting
easily into their soft, stringy wood. The party of Fomor soldiers were
wielding their tools with tireless efficiency, methodically working their way
through the little grove. One by one the exotic, graceful trees fell with a soft
whisper of regret, crackling down upon their piled fellows.
The captives watched this razing helplessly.
"Such beautiful trees," Findgoll said in despair. "How can those animals
destroy them so wantonly?"
"The Fomor care nothing for beauty," the Dagda said, striding back and
forth in his frustration. "Their minds are ice and iron. They'll find what
Balor wants, no matter what they have to do. Before they're finished,
there'll likely be little left of this place."
It certainly seemed as though he was right. More parties of Fomor were

busily scouring the Sidhe, seeking any place that might hide objects or men.
They were probing the streams with poles, turning up rocks, trampling
fields and gardens, tearing out foliage. The whole bright, gentle world
within the Sidhe was being ravaged brutally. And Balor, from his throne
atop the mound, oversaw it like the graven image of some ancient god of
death, dark and grim and terrible.
From their own position, the captives could see only a little of the activity
within the Sidhe. They were being held in a hollow some distance from the
mound. There the special guards of Balor could keep them easily penned.
They patrolled in watches, changing at regular intervals. Always a third of
them kept up the guard, unceasingly circling their prisoners, constantly on
the alert.
The Dagda snorted at them as he made his own restless circuit, but paused
as he noticed Gilla, lying back on the grass, lanky form spread comfortably,
apparently quite at ease.
"Well, it's certain you don't seem much distressed by this," he said
accusingly, stopping beside the being to glare down, hands on hips.
The clown lifted his shaggy brows to peer up at the figure looming over
him.
His eyes showed his amusement as he lightly replied: "There really isn't
much that we can do about it, is there, now?"
179
"You can't be so indifferent to this . . . this violation of such a marvelous

place," Findgoll said, his tone one of shock. "Look what those awful Fomor
are doing!"
Gilla Decaire glanced about him and nodded. "They seem to be having a
good time at it. Do you think it's something in their natures?"
'Ah, can you never be serious, fool?" the Dagda said in disgust and wheeled
away to resume stalking.
"I'll admit, I've trouble understanding you myself," Findgoll remarked to

Gilla. "Only a madman could watch this happening without feeling anger in
his heart. And I've known you long enough to be certain you're no
madman."
The look of amusement died in the clownish face.
"I don't like seeing the waste, really, old friend," he replied with more
gravity. "And someday they will surely pay for it." He shrugged then, and
the more frivolous tone returned. "Meanwhile, it's harmless enough
violence they're doing, and it's certainly a good waste of their time. That
gives more to us."
"Time?" the Dagda growled as he passed on another circuit. "Time for

what?"
"Time for Morrigan to bring some help to us."

"And what help can she bring us in time?" he asked derisively. "Tara is too
far."
"You've forgotten Lugh," said Gilla. "He should be waiting for us on Eire's
shore right now. I'm certain Morrigan's thinking that same thing. With his
help, we might still find a way of completing our little task."
"You've some mad vision of your own that's made you believe this can
happen,"
the scornful champion declared. He waved a hand around at the searching

Fomor.
"But I've the cold reality before me. Look at them. How much longer do
you think it'll be takin' that lot of bloody scavengers to find your cauldron
and your precious Manannan?"
"Oh, as to that, they can look just as long as they don't get tired of it,"
the clown told him. "Forever, in fact. It's possible they might come across
the cauldron, though I doubt it, but I can say for certain that they'll never
find Manannan MacLir out there." He waved about at the vastness of the
Sidhe.
'What do you mean?" the Dagda demanded, eyeing the lanky man narrowly.
"Why not?"
"Because he isn't out there."
"He's left the Sidhe then?" asked Findgoll.
180
"Not exactly," the one called Gilla answered in a coy way. He looked
around him carefully to be certain no guards were close by. Then he
gestured the two closer. Doubtful but curious, they moved in. He sat up and
they both bent down to him.
"You see," he said in a confidential tone, "I'm Manannan MacLir."
The Dagda straightened up, hooting with laughter. "Ha! That's a fine one,
that is! You, Manannan!" "Quiet now," the man in the clown disguise
cautioned.
"Let's not announce that bit of news to Balor. I knew you'd react that way,
but it's the truth."
"You finally, actually, have gone fully mad," the big man said with
emphasis.
"I'll have no more of you." And with that, he turned his back in a gesture of
finality.
But Findgoll stayed where he was, eyeing the clownish figure uncertainly.
Manannan turned his attention there.
"You see," he said, dropping the affected tones of Gilla, "I was going to
have to reveal myself to you anyway, once we came here."
"You'd not jest with us?" the little Druid asked. "Not on a thing like that?
You really are this Sea-God?"
"Of course," he said heartily, but then added, more modestly, "well, not a
Sea-God actually. Although I do have some very interesting powers."
Findgoll looked into those clear, light eyes. He felt the power there, noticed
an aura with his own druidic powers that he had never sensed before in the
clown. He considered, analyzed, and then nodded. "I believe you," he said
with assurance. Not believing his ears, the Dagda spun around to them
again.
"Findgoll! You're not letting him pull you into this? You're ravin' too!"
"I said I'd always known Gilla wasn't mad. And if you'd think, you great
lump, instead of bellowing, you'd see that it explains a great deal about our
strange comrade. Like why he was so close to Lugh, and how he brought us
here and got us through the fog safely."
The Dagda wasn't convinced. "If he's this 'Sea-God,' why doesn't he use his
powers to help us now? Answer that!"
"I'm supplied only with powers over the sea," Manannan explained
pleasantly.
181
"Mighty poor ones if they let Balor walk in here."
"If I'd been here, he wouldn't have," Manannan assured him "At least I'd
have given him a tussle/or it. It was a great surprise to me that Balor
thought to strike here. I would never have guessed he had the ability to
anticipate our moves the way he's done or to discover the link between me
and your uprising.
I made a mistake in underestimating him." He fixed them with a hard gaze.

"I don't ordinarily make mistakes."
He looked up toward the black figure and went on more thoughtfully.
"No. There must be something more to our Balor that I didn't take into
account. Something very deep and dangerous, I think. Even more dangerous
than he is. I'd surely like to find out what it is."
He shrugged and his mood lightened again. "Anyway, that's for later. For
now, we must keep my identity a secret, if we can. That way I may yet get a
chance to use my powers against him."
"Balor will give up the hunt sooner or later," Findgoll noted.
"But maybe before that, we'll have a chance to escape."

"If you are Manannan," the Dagda said, very guardedly, "why have you
kept it a secret from us all this time?"
"I had to be able to work in Eire unknown to you," he answered simply.
Findgoll was more interested in another point.
"Then you are from Queen Danu, like this Sidhe and these people?" was his
question.
"I am."
"If that's so, I demand that you explain to us just what it is you and this
Sidhe of yours are doing here!"
"You've certainly earned the right to know it," the tall man answered with
real gravity. "And it was something I was going to tell you anyway. This
isn't quite the way I'd planned on doing it, but I do think it's time that I
revealed everything to you."
183
XXI
QUEEN DANU'S PLAN
"i THINK WE should talk someplace where we can't be overheard,"

Manannan recommended. "Over here."
He led them to the gathered inhabitants of the Sidhe, who had all bunched
into the center of the circular hollow, farthest from the patrolling guards.
"Where's Angus?" Manannan asked. "He should hear this too."
"From the look I saw in his eye, I'd say he was up to a bit of dalliance," his
father said. "I'll get him."
He moved into the group, most of whom were seated on the ground, talking
in soft tones or watching their home being systematically destroyed. Their
faces mirrored their total dismay at this, and the Dagda guessed it likely that
most of these young people, protected all their lives, had never experienced
such savagery, indeed, probably had no way to comprehend it He noticed
that here and there, some were putting on a braver front, even playing at
harps or pipes in an attempt to ease the atmosphere of fear.
He called to Angus as he moved through them, still feeling rather like a

great bull amongst a flock of birds from the fluttering, half-frightened looks
he drew. He recalled that he had always felt that way amongst the people of
Danu.
To his relief, Angus finally responded and rose from where he had been
seated, comforting with all the fervor of his young soul a gathering of the
women of the Sidhe.
"Not too busy, I hope?" his father asked dryly.
Angus colored with embarassment. "I was ... ah ... trying to keep them from
being so afraid."
The Dagda glanced around at the collection of exceptionally beautiful

young faces looking up toward his son with warm smiles and ardent
expressions.
"I think you've succeeded," he said. "Now, come with me."
182
"Do you have to leave us?" one asked, her caressing voice tinged with
disappointment.
"I'll be back," he promised as he moved away, very reluc-tantly, at his

father's side.
"They think I'm a great warrior!" he said, in a distant, happy

"A good thing they don't know the truth," the Dagda answered tersely.
"Shake loose of your dreaming, boy. There's no place for it now!"
The effect of that voice on Angus was like that of a sudden dunk in a winter
sea.
They rejoined the others and moved farther into the midst of the company.
Manannan spoke quietly to several as they went, and they began to pass his
words along. A general murmuring of talk began around them, and more
instruments were lifted in light melodies. By the time the four had reached
the centei; they were surrounded by a soft but constant haze of sound.
"That'll keep any unwanted ears from listening in," the disguised Sea-God
said. "Let's sit here."
He dropped down on a small, clear patch of grass and the others joined him.
Not knowing what this sudden meeting was all about, Angus looked
puzzled.
"The clown here has told us he's really Manannan," his father explained, his
voice still reflecting his own doubt.
"Gilla? Manannan?" Angus said, and his expression as he looked at the

long, ragged personage indicated he shared his father's doubts.
"It doesn't really matter whether you believe me or not," Manannan told
them.
"I owe an explanation of all this to you, and I'm going to give it. All right?"
They agreed to listen, however skeptical.
"Once you saw the Sidhe, you'd have to know of Danu's involvement here.
My concern is to make you see why it was necessary."
"True enough," Findgoll agreed. "When we left Tir-na-nog to return to Eire,

she promised us that she would not interfere in our winning our own place
there."
"And so she has not," he insisted. "Everything the Tuatha de Danann have
done has been by their own will. But, you see, she knew that you would
face some difficulties in Eire, and she at least wanted you to have a" — he
hesitated over the exact word — "well, a sort of guardian."
184
"A guardian!" the Dagda repeated indignantly. "She knew you might resent
that," Manannan said quickly. "She understood that you had to leave Tir-na-
nog and return to Eire to prove yourselves. But that didn't mean she wasn't
going to try to help you in any way she could. You wouldn't expect that,
would you?"
"Of course not!" Angus heartily agreed, and received a cold glance from his
father, who wasn't quite so easily convinced. "So, Danu sent me here to do
whatever I could," the man went on brightly. "But what I do is governed by
some very strict conditions. I'm never to influence or interfere in any
decisions you might make. And none of the magic of Tir-na-nog is to be
used in Eire except by the free choice of your people." He gestured around
him at the enormous room. "This Sidhe was established as a link between
Eire and Tir-na-nog. It was protected by the fog and by the rumors of the
monstrous
'Sea-God' that I spread personally." He grinned in the old, Gillaish way.
"From here I was to keep watch on Eire, reporting back to Danu on events."
"You've done much more than that," Findgoll pointed out. "You helped us
for years in that clown disguise."
"I did," he openly agreed, "and it was great fun. But, I was using none of
the powers of Danu. I have only the abilities of an ordinary man in Eire. My
powers are good only upon the sea. Another of the conditions set by my
Queen."
"Why is it you were the one sent?" the little Druid inquired. "I don't
remember seeing you during our time in Tir-na-nog." "Because I was never
there," he answered. "I'm a bit of an outcast to my people. I never could
adjust to their quiet life. So, I've wandered most of my days, seeking
adventure of some kind."
"I can understand that well enough," said the Dagda, unbending a little. He
had to admit to himself that no matter how strange the clown had been, he
and the champion shared a
love of action.
"Thank you," the tall man responded graciously. "In any case, my talents
have never been appreciated there, until this need arose. I was the only one
of Tir-na-nog at all suited for Danu s mission. So I was chosen by her, with
a certain distaste, I'm afraid. I don't think even she really understands me.
"Of course I took the job at once, thinking what marvelous BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
185
adventure it would be! But most of it has been quite boring, until recently.
Most of the time I just waited."
"Waited?" Findgoll repeated. "For what?"
"For the time when your rising would come. Oh, Danu knew all about that.
When Lugh was born, she'd forseen that he would be the one to lead you
against the Fomor. Unfortunately, Balor also learned of the Prophecy. So, it
became part of my task to see that Lugh survived to play his role. I
managed to keep him hidden until he'd reached manhood, then sent him
back to Eire."
"So that's were he was for all these years!" said Findgoll.
"But, what about this magical cauldron?" the Dagda wanted to know.
"That? Oh, that's one of the Four Gifts," Manannan said. "Each of the Four
Cities provided one, to be used by the de Dananns, should they choose to
use them. Of course, since Danu cannot take her magic into Eire, these
objects must be taken there by de Dananns themselves. That's why you had
to fetch the cauldron. Two other gifts Lugh took there. One was his own
sword, the Answerer. The other was the Stone of Truth he used to prove
Nuada the rightful king."
"The Lia Fail!" Findgoll exclaimed. "Of course. We wondered how it had
come there from Tir-na-nog."
"You said four gifts," put in Angus. "What is the fourth?"
"A spear with a point blazing with such energy that it has to be contained by
a special liquid. My people must have managed to hide it with the cauldron.
And it seems that it's one thing, at least, our one-eyed Commander doesn't
know about."
"When will it be used?" the young warrior asked.
The tall man shrugged. "I don't know. When the time comes for it, I
suppose, as with the other gifts. The High-Druids of each city used their
powers to decide on a gift. So far they seem to have chosen well." He
looked around at his companions, adding with emphasis, "But understand
me, none of these gifts, or any of the things I've done, has interfered with
what you've done in Eire.
Your choices to act and your own will have brought you here."
Plagued by doubts, the Dagda shook his head.
"I don't know. In taking any of her help, aren't we saying that we can't win
Eire by ourselves?"
186

"And if this cauldron didn't come from Danu, wouldn't we use it without
this foolish worry?" Findgoll countered. "Didn't we come here for it freely
enough?"
"He's right, Father," Angus added. "This cauldron will only help restore the
strength the Fomor stole from us. It won't win the battle. We'll have to do it.
This may be the only way we can give ourselves even a fighting chance."
"Your warrior pride can be put aside for now, at least," Findgoll said. "It's
the survival of all our people that's important."
The champion looked from one to another of them, his face clouded with
his indecision. But at last he knew there was only one choice to make.
"All right," he said heavily. "We'll take Danu's gift, and we'll keep your
secret, Sea-God. At least for now." He gave a short, humorless laugh,
glancing up toward Balor. "Of course, it's a fine thing for us to say all this,
sitting in the shadow of that
thing."
"Don't give up yet," Manannan told him. "There's still a chance. Remember
the Morrigan,"
Lugh threw another stick of bleached wood onto the little fire. There was a
sharp, chill wind off the night sea, but here, sheltered in a little nest of rocks
above the shore, the fire created a cozy pocket of warmth.
Around it in the open, oblivious to the wind and cold, the shimmering
Riders sat, forming their protective ring, lances up, spear points glowing
faintly with their energy.
The young warrior and his companions had completed their circuit of Eire
and arrived at the rendezvous destination nearly two days late. Lugh had
expected to find the others waiting there—probably impatiently, knowing
the Dagda—with the cauldron. But they had seen no sign of life anywhere
along the rugged coast. He and Aine had checked their chart many times to
insure that this was, indeed, the proper place.
"1 wonder if anything's happened to them," Lugh brooded, staring into the
fire.
"I suppose it's possible," said Aine, seated close beside him, her cloak
pulled about her legs for extra warmth. "If Balor knew about your mission,
it's likely he knew about theirs. But, I can't believe he could do more than
delay them. They're too clever and too hard. And they have Manannan with
them."
187
"Your brother is not perfect, you know," Lugh remarked critically. "I've
learned that, and you've said it yourself And he's got no special powers in
Eire."
"I know. And he is a great fool sometimes. But he does have a special talent
for making things work out." She looked up thoughtfully into the night sky.
"I wonder, sometimes, if Danu hasn't put some special, protective cloak on
him.
She acts as if she doesn't approve of him, but I think she secretly likes him."
"Queen Danu," Lugh said, remembering. "Did she really save me?"
"You saved yourself," she said emphatically. "Remember that."
He smiled. "All right. But you know what I mean. Did she really appear?"
"She did. And she gave me the power to heal you."
Lugh closed his eyes. "You know, I can almost see her, that face above me,
but only as if it were some dream." He opened his eyes and looked at her.
'The whole thing was a dream, and not very clear."
"It's just as well," Aine told him, with more sincerity than he knew. She was
relieved to discover that he remembered so little of her own part.
"Do you think I could ever see Danu?" Lugh asked. "All of her, that is?"
"I'm certain she would like to meet you," Aine said. "But, it would mean
you would have to go to Tir-na-nog with me."
He looked into her eyes, thinking he saw in their clear, bright depths an
invitation, and a promise.
He leaned toward her, his arm sliding forward, around the slender waist.
"There is nowhere that I wouldn't go with you," he said.
He started to pull her toward him, but she pushed him away, casting her
gaze across the fire meaningfully.
There, on a small rock close to the warmth, the tiny, mouselike being sat,
busily nibbling at a crust of bread. It stopped when it noted her looking
toward it.
"Pay no mind to me at all," the Pooka said politely.
She looked at it with some distaste. "Do you have to stay like that?"
It shrugged its small shoulders in a very human manner. "I never thought of
it. I eat much less this way."
188
"Never mind! Just change into some other form. Something a bit less
disagreeable."
"Certainly!" It agreed amicably. "And just what form would that be?"
"How about a dog?" she suggested. "Something with a good, big head."
It began the change at once. The head came first, a broad, square-muzzled
head with pointed ears and large, dark eyes. The body filled out behind it,
but stopped far short of matching the great head. It made an absurd sight,
that massive, grinning face haphazardly attached to that small form.
"That's not right," she told it irritably.
"You wanted a big head," it answered innocently.
"Only on a body it fits. No more tricks. Finish it properly."
The body grew, finally reaching proportions suited for the head, about the
size and look of a wolfhound.
Satisfied, Aine nodded at the beast.
"That's quite nice. Now, if you can keep from your foolery, I might decide I
don't mind you at all."
"Why, thank you!" it told her, obviously pleased. It looked from her to Lugh
who was, unseen by Aine, making desperate signals with his face for the
Pooka to depart.
It considered the meaning of this, then understood.
"You know, I think I ought to take a little walk around this area," it
suggested casually. "I'd like to be certain there are no Fomor sneaking
about."
"A good idea," Lugh quickly agreed. "Take a nice, long look. But stay in
sight of the fire. And don't fall into any traps this
time."
"I won't," it promised. It looked from Lugh to Aine with a knowing grin.
"The same to you!"
It rose up languidly, stretched the new, long body, and sauntered off into the
surrounding night.
"What did it mean by that?" Aine asked.

"I've no idea," said Lugh. His arm stole out again, encircling her waist, this
time pulling her toward him. "Never mind that. Do you know how long it's
been since we were alone?"
She put up her hands, pushing against his chest. "Stop, Lugh. Please don't
try any of that with me. Not now!"
He pulled back to look at her in puzzlement. "But I thought our argument

was finished."
189
"It is. We are friends," she said very properly. "But our relationship will not
go beyond that. Remember what my brother said. Now that we are together,
I don't want to give him any reason to believe that he was right. Nothing
between us will interfere with what we have to do."
"But there is something between us," he said. "We can't pretend there isn't."
"That's only in your own mind," she said, looking toward the fire to avoid
his searching gaze. "I like you a great deal. But as a comrade first, or
perhaps a brother. If you've decided there's something else—"
"Wait!" he said sharply, seizing her arms tightly and pulling her around so
that he could look directly into her eyes. "Don't expect me to believe that
again. I know . . ." He paused, faint images clearing in his mind as he stared
at her, faint words strengthening in his memory. "I remember!" he said
more positively. "I was nearly dead. I thought it was more of some dream,
but it wasn't. It was you! You said you loved me!"
She hesitated, wanting to deny it, but seeing in his face that she would
never convince him of that. Finally, in a tightly controlled voice, she
replied:
"I said it to save you. It was meant to help you want to stay alive."
"Because you love me," he insisted,

"Because you are important to Eire, and it is my task to help you stay
alive,"
she answered with cool preciseness.
"That's always your argument to hide behind," he said. "But there is more.
There's more and you know it."
She tried to twist away, but he stubbornly held on, keeping her there as he
went on in uncompromising tones.
"It's not your brother you're afraid of, is it? You're afraid of yourself1.
You think he might be right, that you do have deeper feelings for me than
you'll admit."
"No!" she protested, but a tinge of uncertainty appeared in her voice.
"Yes," he countered with force. "You told me once you didn't like feeling
that you weren't in control. But this is something you can't control. So you
hide it, fighting to stay the cold, hard warrior, the great adventuress. But
when you thought I was dying, you let it show. You can't hide it from me
anymore.
Don't try!"
190
191
He pulled her to him. His sudden move took her by surprise, and she was
unable to resist. He pressed his lips to hers, bringing her body tightly
against his.
She felt the warmth of him, felt it building within herself Her own control
was slipping. She realized that her fear for his life really had loosed her
inner feelings. Now they confused her, left her open to contending forces of
emotion and logic, love and duty.
Perhaps she was foolish to hold back. One or both of them might die yet,
and soon. Should she deny any chance for themselves?
In this bewildering and rebellious state of mind, her passions soon began to
dominate. She began to return his kiss with her own ardor, encircling him
with her arms.
Together they sank down to lie on the soft, sandy earth warmed by the fire.
It seemed to them the heat had grown unbearable, and they pulled away the
hampering cloaks, unaware of everything now but one another's bodies.
Lugh's hand slid down the smooth curve of her side, over her hip, past the
hem of the short tunic to lie caressingly on the bare, hot flesh of her thigh.
Then it began a slow move upward again, dragging the garment with it.
Her own hands slid lingeringly from his back across his chest. They met at
the buckle of his sword belt, began to unfasten it.
A piercing, high-pitched shriek rose suddenly, stabbing through the night.
XXII
BALOR'S RAGE
THE TWO SAT up as if they had been jabbed by the sound.
They pulled apart and looked out into the night where a series of loud
squawks and rattling noises could now be heard.
"Something must have happened to the Pooka!" Aine said.
"Oh, no!" Lugh cried irritably, slamming a fist to the ground in frustration.
"I should have expected something."
To him, this was another untimely interruption. But to Aine, it was a

welcome rescue. It gave her a chance to gather the shattered forces of her
will and re-form a rational front again. She quickly rearranged her clothes,
seized her cloak, and jumped to her feet.
"Come on," she told him briskly, once more a warrior. "We've got to see
what's wrong."
Lugh knew she was right. Pushing back his disappointment once again, he
rose and drew out the Answerer.
But they had no chance to go to the rescue. From the darkness a form
appeared, striding into the light. It was a large black cat with glowing eyes,
and it gripped a struggling raven in its jaws.
Stopping by the fire, the animal spat the bird out on the ground.
"I saw this raven out there creeping up on you," came the Pookas voice
from the cat. "I took on the proper form to deal with it."
The bedraggled bird, most of its feathers askew, lay upon the ground, body
heaving with its labored breathing, sharp black eyes glaring up at them.
Then it began to glow with a blue-white light, like a dark sapphire lit from
within.
"Oh, no," Lugh said in dismay. "This is no bird."
The light bloomed outward, swallowing up the raven, stretching out along
the ground, then fading away. A familiar, bony form was now visible lying
by the fire.
Once her own form had been regained, she wasted no time. With an angry
caw, she sprang up, charging toward the Pooka, her hands grabbing for her
sword hilts.
The animal crouched back defensively, snarling.

"Wait, Morrigan!" Lugh cried, jumping between the two with his sword
raised.
"It's our friend! It thought it was helping us!"
She hesitated, looking narrowly from the beast toward Lugh.
"Your friend?" she asked in a voice that rattled like dry bones. "He is a
Pooka. No friend to us. They are traitors! Lying tricksters!"
"Not this one," Lugh said soothingly. "He saved my life. He wants to help
us.
Please, Morrigan, leave him be."
She made a harsh, angry sound and released her weapons.
192
193
"All right, Lugh. I've no time for it anyway. You must start back to
Manannan's Isle with me at once!" "Why?" Aine asked. "What's wrong?"
The raven-woman answered in a single word. "Balor!"
The sun was just breasting the curved rim of the sea when the immense,
eaglelike bird began its long, sweeping descent from the sky.
Lugh looked down from its back to the slate-grey ocean surface now visible
far below and squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his grip on the bird's long
neck.
"Let up there just a bit," it said in the Pooka's familiar voice. "You're cutting
off my breathing."
"Sorry," Lugh said, relaxing his hold a little. "I hate admitting it, but I have
a great fear of heights."
"I used to have it," the being answered lightly. "But flying cured me. When
you're cut off totally from the earth this way, you feel completely free. Take
a look. It's beautiful."
"I'll take your word for it," he said, keeping his eyes shut.
But Lugh's torture was nearly over. The green-grey jewel of Manannan's
Isle was now visible below, and the Pooka spiraled in, seeking its landing
spot, finally drifting softly down into a glade sheltered by a band of trees
and a low ridge of hills.
"We're here," it told Lugh, who gratefully released his hold and slid from
the bird's back onto the ground. He was never more glad of feeling it
beneath his feet.
From the nearby ridge, Aine and Morrigan descended, running across the
glade to meet the arrivals.
"Are you all right?" Aine asked Lugh, noting his rather pale look.
"I wish there had been another way to come," he answered honestly.
But there had been none. The Riders of the Sidhe had been unable to take
them across. Their only way of reaching the isle was for Lugh to order them
dissolved back into the atmosphere and then recall them once he reached
the place. So the willing Pooka had volunteered its talents to their cause.
And, despite Morrigan's open distrust and Aine's more veiled doubts, its
help had been accepted. As Lugh had pointed out to his skeptical friends,
they really had no choice.
The bird form it took, though huge, hadn't been able to carry both Aine and
Lugh at once. It had made two trips during the night, not complaining of the
tremendous effort this required. Aine, over Lugh's protest, had gone first.
Knowing the isle, she had argued that she could best scout the situation
there. Morrigan had agreed.
Now, recovering from his harrowing ride, Lugh asked what she had found.
"Come with us," she said.
She and Morrigan led the way toward the nearby woods. The Pooka
transformed himself as they went, resuming the hound shape that had
pleased Aine.
The trees of the woods were tall pines, widely spaced. Their slender trunks
rose up to an intricate lace of greenery far above, where slender branches
seemed woven together by their thick fringe of needles. Through gaps in
this fabric, bolts of white morning light shot down at sharp angles to throw
bright patches on the ground.
The forest floor was level, carpeted thickly with brown needles glowing
golden where the sun struck them. The four moved easily, threading
through the trees after Aine, the soft ground deadening the sounds of their
footsteps.
It was certainly beautiful and very peaceful, Lugh thought. Like the rest of
Manannan's Isle. But what was Aine about bringing them here?
A tune began to sound softly through the quiet woods. It was a light air
played on a flute or pipes, he thought. And with its rising notes, the trees
around them were suddenly populated.
The figures seemed to materialize from the air, they slipped so gently into
view from their hiding places. So at one with nature were they that, until
now, they had remained invisible.
Lugh's recent experiences had made him understandably skittish when

suddenly confronted, and he had his sword halfway out before recognizing
these slender, beautiful people as inhabitants of Manannan's Sidhe. His
gesture alarmed them, and they started back, eyes wide like startled fawns.
Aine quickly lifted a staying hand and spoke in soothing tones to them.
"It's all right. This is Lugh. You know him. And this is the Pooka. He is our
friend too."
At this they moved forward again, still somewhat warily. It was clear to
Lugh that their own first experience with the Fomor had left them much
frightened and unsure. But a few of the young women he had met on his
earlier visits to the Sidhe
194
ventured timid smiles. He returned them warmly, and this seemed, at last, to
return their confidence. They crowded in around the four now, as if their
presence provided some security.
"What is it all of you are doing here?" LugH asked them. "They escaped the
Sidhe when Balors men came in," Aine explained. "They came to hide here,
not knowing what else to do, I came on them while I was scouting the
area." She smiled around at them. "They've never really been in a violent
situation like this in their lives. But they did quite well. They managed to
get the Spear of Gorias and the cauldron out while the Fomor were
capturing their friends inside." "You mean the cauldron's safe?" Lugh said
with delight. "It is," a young man assured him, proudly. "It is hidden here,
in these woods. Those soldiers will never find it, the spear, or us. They
think we are all inside the Sidhe."
"The main entrance is heavily guarded," Aine explained. "They must

believe that's enough to trap everyone inside. They don't realize that there
are other ways in and out of the mound."
"Why didn't the Fomor discover them?" Lugh asked. "The Sidhe makes
them invisible to anyone but its own people," she said. "And it protects
them so no one can chance into them."
"How does it do that?" Morrigan wanted to know. "Any outsider is

misdirected,"
Aine told her. "Manannan calls it 'Being Lead Astray.' If someone comes
too close, he suddenly finds himself across a meadow, heading another
way." "Then if Balor believes no one can have escaped," Lugh said
thoughtfully, "the cauldron will be safe here. Still, that leaves the rest of
these people and our friends trapped inside. We have to get them out."
"We do not have to get them out," Morrigan said in a low rattle.
"What?" Lugh asked sharply, not understanding. "We have the cauldron,"
she said. "Our mission is to take it back to Tara. We can go now. The others
would understand." He was shocked by that. "What, leave them here? You
know what that would mean!"
"I know," she answered flatly. "But to risk ourselves to save them is to risk
the entire de Danann race."
He stared into the chill depths of those dark eyes, trying to BATTLE FOB
THE SIDHE
195
fathom them. He looked at the expressionless death's head face. Was this
strange being whose life was warfare and blood telling him he must
abandon his comrades and her own, or was she merely pointing out the
potential hazards of their actions?
He didn't know, and it didn't matter. He knew that the others must be saved
if it was possible. Reasonable or not, he knew he had to act.
"I am going in there, Morrigan," he said. "I'm going to see what can be
done.
If there's any way they can be rescued, I'm going to try it. Stay out here with
the cauldron if you want. Then you can take it back if something happens to
me."
He was surprised when he detected the hint of a smile thaw the icy sheen of
her eyes for an instant and heard a certain satisfaction in her creaking voice
as she replied.
"You'll go nowhere without me."

He nodded and looked at Aine. "What about you? You'll have to lead us
into the Sidhe. Will you do it?"
"They may be dead already, Lugh," she said reluctantly.
"I know. Will you take us in?"
"You know I will. It's my own brother in there."
"And you?" he said to Shaglan. "There'll be more danger in this than you
bargained for. You owe nothing to me. You've already done more than you
needed."
"I owe the de Dananns," it said. "This may be some little payment for that."
"You'll not buy forgiveness from us. Pooka," Morrigan told it darkly. And,
to Lugh: "It'll betray us. Mark what I'm saying to you now."
"It will go, and welcome," Lugh said staunchly. "Thank you, Shaglan."
He turned toward the people of the Sidhe.
"As for all of you, get back into your hiding places and wait for us. Keep
that spear and cauldron out of sight."
The young man nodded. He gestured toward the rest. Like sunbeams fading
with a passing cloud, they swiftly disappeared amongst the trees again. The
woods seemed empty.
"Let's go then, shall we?" Lugh asked his companions briskly. "Aine, you're
certain you can get us in unseen?"
"Of course!" she answered with some indignation. "For years I've prowled
this place when I was bored. Follow me!"
She led the way again, out of the woods and across the meadows toward the
giant mound. It looked to the others as if
196
she were headed toward a blank hillside. But as they entered an area
covered with heavy brush, Lugh, Morrigan, and the Pooka found
themselves suddenly feeling quite disoriented. It appeared to them that they
were headed away from the mound, the ground shifting about them. It was a
dizzying sensation. But they followed close to Aine, carefully keeping an
eye on her, and soon experienced another peculiar phenomenon that Lugh
recalled from his past visits there. One moment they were outside, and the
next they realized they were not. The Sidhe seemed gently to envelop them,
draw them in, and they were suddenly looking up at the interior of the
mound, not the sky.
"What an extraordinary feeling," the Pooka said with awe.
"Shhh!" Aine warned, and pulled them into the shelter of a brightly
flowering thicket.
Ahead of them appeared a Fomor patrol in a straggling line. As they moved

along, they looked searchingly around, their expressions clearly showing
grave concern. Just past where the four were hiding, they stopped in a
bunch and stood, staring about them in a hopeless sort of way. Then, at the
angry-sounding orders of a young officer, they turned and started wearily
back the way they'd come.
"They look a little lost, don't they?" Lugh remarked softly when they were
out of sight.
"I'm not surprised," said Aine. "The inside of this place is as bewildering as
the out. Come on. We'll try to work our way closer to the central mound."
"Hold on," said the Pooka. They looked toward it and found it in a state of
flux. Soon it settled into the large, catlike form. "I thought this might be
more useful for sneaking about," it said.
The Morrigan fixed it with a glittering eye, its form recalling her recent
indignity.
"That's something a Pooka would know all about," she crackled nastily.
"Jealous because you can do only that dusty crow, are you?" the animal shot
back.
She hissed, drawing back her thin lips to reveal the sharp, tearing teeth.
Lugh stepped quickly in again.
"Now look, the both of you, this has got to stop! You'll have to get along for
now. Morrigan, please believe that the Pooka wants to help!"
197
She shook her head. "No. And I'll not turn my back to it." Then she added,
reluctantly, "But I'll not argue with it anymore."
"And you, Shaglan," Lugh said to the animal, "watch your tongue as well."
It smiled back. "I will do that," it promised.
"Then, can we be going on now?" Aine asked, made impatient by this

childish exchange. "We've got to keep moving with all these Fomor
wandering about."
They agreed, and then began a cautious movement through the vast
countryside contained within the Sidhe, moving ever closer to the central
mound.
The red gaze turned from its constant, slow scanning of the Sidhe to rest
upon the Fomor officer.
"Yes, Salmhor?" Balor asked.
"My Commander," the other began cautiously, not relishing the report he
was about to make, "the patrols have encountered some difficulties. They
have captured only a few more inhabitants. The rest . . . they seem to have
disappeared."
"Disappeared?" The iron voice clanged. "Within the confines of this

mound? How could they?"
"The interior of this place is very . . . confusing, Commander," Sital

Salmhor began, uncertain how to explain. "The more the patrols search, the
larger it seems to become. They discover more fields, more streams, more
woods, many more than this space could possibly contain. Some of them
have become disoriented, even lost. They've had to abandon searching and
find their way back. The men are growing frightened by it, Commander."
He looked around the Sidhe nervously. "And, I must confess to a growing
unease myself."
"I've sensed it too," Balor responded. "There is some kind of force at work
here, some peculiar power."
"I'm afraid that continuing the search is useless, Commander," Salmhor told
him. "It might prove dangerous as well."
I agree. This mound is protecting its secrets from us. We'll waste no more
time. I think we will try a more direct means of finding what we want.
Salmhor, select a group from our prisoners. And bring our visitors from
Eire back to me."
The officer went down from the mound at once, gathering a 198
199
party of Balor's personal guard and marching purposefully into the hollow.
They spread into a line as they neared the gathering there. Alarmed by their
approach, Manannan's people rose and drew together. The lanky guardian
and his comrades moved forward in a protective way, boldly confronting
the officer.
"What's happening now?" demanded the Dagda.
"That is not for you to ask," Sahnhor answered haughtily. "Balor wants you
brought to him. Come along!"
Some of the guards moved to circle them. Reluctantly they started off,
following the officer's lead. As they did, Angus looked back toward the
other prisoners, noting that more guards were now approaching them and
pushing some of them out of the group with the strange power lances, as if
they were cutting cattle from a herd.
He paused, asking sharply, "Wait! What are they doing?"
"Never mind, lad," said Manannan, urging him on. "Nothing you can do
now. No need for getting yourself hurt again."
Angus looked around at the shining lanceheads, recalling the stinging pain.
He did as he was told.
They were led back up the mound to the dark giant waiting by the ring of
stones. The four were lined up before him, each with a guard standing close
behind.
Once more the crimson eye rested upon them, bathed them with its
unpleasant warmth.
"I have lost patience with these beings," the flat, metallic voice announced.
"My troops have searched this place to no avail. What has been hidden has
been hidden too well for us to find. That fact is very unfortunate, but for
them, not for me."
"What do you mean, Balor?" the Dagda asked.
"Only that now I must use less pleasant means to discover where this
cauldron and Manannan are."
"None of them will tell you anything, you great heap of rustin' iron,"
Manannan told him, again using Cilia's voice.
"I warned you before, fool," the dark giant said in an ominous rumble.
"Warn me all you like," he replied carelessly, "but they'll not talk to you."
"I think they will. At least, they will after they see what happens to those
who refuse. It should not take long. They seem as frivolous as this
ridiculous dwelling place. Breaking
them should take no more effort than breaking this Sea-Gods power."
"They aren't so frail as you think, Balor," the disguised Manannan warned.
"Believe me, you won't learn anything from them."
The eye intensified its light a fraction, pouring more heat upon them.
"Perhaps from you, then."
"From us?" said Findgoll. "We know no more than you."
That may be true. But I sense that you could save me all this unnecessary
effort . . . and pain. I kept you alive for that reason. So, if you know
anything, it would be better for you to tell me."
"Why?" Manannan demanded. "We surely won't be saving ourselves to give

you what you want. And we're no more likely to tell you anything than they
are!"
"You may think differently after you've watched some of these pretty young
bodies turned to piles of blackened sticks," Balor coldly announced.
xxrn
A DESPERATE DELAY
"SALHHOR! BRING THE first ones up!" Balor commanded.
"I'm afraid this might be it," Manannan softly told his companions as the
officer went to do his Commander's bidding.
"And no sign of help," the Dagda murmured back.
"Don't give up yet. There's still some time."
The Dagda shook his head. He couldn't believe there was any hope.
A dozen of Manannan's people appeared on the crest of the mound, herded

along by more of Balor's guards. They were pushed forward into the ring of
stones where they stood, huddled together, staring up toward the giant
figure like small children facing an angry teacher.
"Now," said Balor slowly, heavily, "I will ask each one of you where
Manannan and this cauldron are. I will ask you only
200
once, and if I do not receive the answer that I want, you will feel the power
of my eye. It will not be quick, and it will be very painful. Do you
understand?"
"You can't do that!" Angus cried out angrily.
"You'd prefer to tell me what I want to know?" Balor said to him. "Tell me
and you can stop this."
"I can't!" Angus said in frustration. "I don't know anything."
"Too bad," said Balor, and the red gaze slid away, moving across the hilltop
to the knot of captives.
The crimson light flitted across them, resting here, then there, finally
stopping on a slender, finely boned young woman with a billowing flow of
silver-blond hair.
"You wit! be the first." Balor declared.
The rest were moved back from her by the guards. She was clearly
frightened, but courageous in the face of her own death, standing
motionless, head up, returning the hot gaze of Balor unflinchingly.
"Will you tell me what I want to know?" the giant asked.
She remained silent, staring upward at him.
"Very well, then," he said, the words clanging like a death knell.
With an agonizing slowness, the lid of the great eye began to lift.
"All right. Enough!" said the figure in the clown's dress loudly. "The game's
gone far enough, Balor."
The eye ceased to open further. The gaze swung back to him.
"What are you saying, fool?" the giant demanded.
"Just that I really can't let you go through with harming any of these
people," he said calmly, dropping Cilia's manner of speech abruptly. "To be
quite honest, I had hoped you'd keep up your searching a bit longer, But
since you clearly intend to become nasty about it, I'll have to reveal the
truth."
"What truth is that?" the voice asked sharply. "Quickly!"
"You must promise that if I reveal Manannan's whereabouts to you, you'll

not harm these people anymore."
"I will promise, if you reveal him to me," Balor said.
"Good enough," the other responded easily. "You see, you really don't need
to ask any of them where this Manannan is. He is standing before you!"
"Where?" Balor asked, the flat voice marked by confusion.
201
"Right here!" the tall, ragged man declared, lifting his arms to present
himself. "I am Manannan MacLir!"
"I will tolerate no more of your mad talk, clown," the Commander warned.
"It's true!" the other insisted. "I've been traveling Eire in disguise! Look!"
With a swift, flamboyant gesture, Cilia seized the long, ragged beard and
tore it from his face. His comrades watched in horror as the beard seemed to
pull the flesh of the face away with it. But from beneath it, another face
appeared. It was a bolder but still pleasant-featured face, set now in an
expression of challenge to the meta! giant. In another move, the man swept
off the straggling head of hair, revealing thick, curling locks of silver-grey.
"There!" he declared triumphantly. "Now you're facing the real Guardian of

the Sidhe. And it's your good fortune that I was gone from here when you
came, or I'd have given you and that bloody eye something to deal with!"
Though his companions were amazed by this sudden transformation, it

seemed to have little effect on Balor.
"Don't think that you can frighten me with your foolish boasting," the flat
voice replied. "If you are Manannan, your little games have been no threat
to me. You're as harmless as this absurd dwelling of yours. Your disguise of
a clown is a perfect one for you, for that is all your are."
"Just give me a chance with you on the sea," Manannan challenged,

somewhat irritated by this scorn, "and we'll see whose powers are greater."
"We can see that here," Balor told him, "You are finished, 'Sea-God.' Give
up your allegiance with the de Dananns, turn this cauldron over to me, and
you may save your little isle."
"And if I refuse to tell you where it is?"
"Then I will take a great pleasure in extracting that information from you."
"Your will against mine, eh?" Manannan said courageously. "A sort of
contest between us. Well, I warn you, you red-eyed mountain of metal
scrap, you can't do anything that will make you the master of Manannan
MacLir!"
"Salmhor, take the others back below!" Balor thundered.
As guards came forward and herded the other captives away, Dagda leaned
toward his lanky companion to mutter darkly:
202
"Manannan, why are you doing this?" The other shrugged. "To delay him
longer.
Every moment might count for us."
"And just how is it you're planning to delay?" "Well, it'll take some time for
him to torture me." "Oh, well, that's marvelous, that is!" the Dagda said
irritably.
"Sorry," Manannan told him. "It's the only plan I could come up with this
time."
From the remnants of a grove of trees half ravaged by Fomor axes, the little
rescue party peered cautiously out toward the nearby mound. Using Aine's
knowledge of the Sidhe, they had managed to work their way this close.
Now they assessed the situation there critically.
It was not especially good.
Their companions could be seen clearly atop the mound, standing beneath
the deadly eye of the black giant, surrounded by most of Balor's personal
guards.
The rest of the Fomor soldiers, having been recalled from searching, were
forming up below the mound. Lugh estimated that there were nearly a
hundred men, all told, many armed with the familiar crossbows.
"They are not going to be easy to get to, there," Aine remarked, quite
unnecessarily, Lugh thought.
They watched as the group of Sidhe inhabitants was moved from the hill
and returned to the hollow.
"Well, there's something, at least," he said. "Only four or five men are
guarding Manannans people. And nobody else is paying any attention to
them.
Let's try to get them free first."
"And then what?" Aine asked.
He shrugged. "I've no idea. One step at a time, I think."
They moved stealthily around the mound at a safe distance, making their
way through the ravaged underbrush and trees and gardens until they were
close to the little hollow where the inhabitants of the Sidhe were being held.
Taking up a vantage point behind a battered but still thick hedge, they made
another survey.
Four guards were pacing the perimeter about the captives now. Two other
Fomor soldiers were standing a little distance from them, watching the
activities on the mound and speaking
203
in Jow tones. One of them carried a crossbow slung across his shoulder.
"We've got to deal with those two first," Lugh whispered. "If we could get
them over here somehow ..."
"Leave that to me," the Pooka said, winking.
And moments later, one of the two Fomor stopped in mid-sentence to stare
past his companion's shoulder toward the row of bushes in complete
surprise.
"What's wrong, mate?" the other soldier asked.
"There! Look!" the first cried.
The second whirled toward the bushes. Nothing was visible.
"There's nothing there!" he said, confused. "What was it?"
"It was a duck ... or, a rabbit," the first said, still staring at the spot where
the thing had briefly appeared.
"It can't be both!"
"But it was," the soldier insisted, looking at his fellow. "It had enormous
webbed feet. And it had ears. Long ones!" He raised a hand high above his
head to demonstrate. Then he pointed toward a gap in the row of bushes.
"He popped right out of there. Then"—he hesitated before going on—"then
he smiled . . .
and he waved at me."
His companion gave him a very curious look. "This strange place is
affecting your mind, Eab. That's what it is."
"No!" Eab said hotly, angered by his comrades disbelief "I saw it. And
look!
There it is again!"
Once more the other soldier spun around. Once more he saw only empty
bushes.
He turned back toward Eab, smiling understanding^.
"It's all right," he said in a soothing voice. "We've all been feeling a bit
confused. Try to ignore it."
Eab did not like his fellow's patronizing tone. Indignantly he replied: "I'm
not confused. There is something there, and I am going to show you."
With that, he marched right to the gap in the bushes, un-slung the crossbow
he carried, and stepped into the foliage, disappearing from sight.
The other soldier heard some crackling sounds as his comrade advanced.
Then, abruptly, there was silence.
"Eab?" he called.
When he received no answer, he moved cautiously toward the gap. He
leaned forward, peering into the tangle of
204
branches. Faster than he could react, a long arm shot out, snaked about his
neck, and jerked him out of sight.
There was more rustling deep within the bushes, and soon two figures in the
close-fitting grey uniforms reappeared. But in the interim, something about
the shape of one had drastically changed. The stocky Fomor figure had
become quite lean and so tall the pants legs barely reached the calf.
Casually, these two moved toward the patrolling guards. As they did, two
other figures slid cautiously through the surrounding screen of bushes,
taking up their own positions.
The uniformed pair parted, each heading toward a guard. None of the
Fomor took notice of them until one, turning at the end of his walk, looked
toward the approaching figure, expecting to see a familiar face.
What he saw was a sleek, skull-like head and dark eyes glittering at him
with a hungry light.
Shocked, he hesitated just an instant in bringing up his power spear in

defense. It was an instant too much. Morrigan was upon him, driving her
sword upward under his ribs into his heart.
As Lugh saw Morrigan move, he struck as well, leaping upon the back of
his guard, driving him down, slamming his head against the ground. The
man went limp.
Across the hollow, an enormous catlike beast sprang down from a low tree
limb upon its chosen victim, bearing him down and cutting off his cries
with a quick nip of its jaws. The last guard, seeing his fellows attacked,
turned to run but stopped, surprised, as a slender and beautiful young girl
stepped from cover to block his way. Growling, he stepped forward to
sweep her from his path. She raised a crossbow and sent its metal bolt
flying. She had fired the bows before. Her aim was deadly. The bolt struck
his forehead squarely, burying itself in his brain, the force of the blow
snapping his head back and throwing him from his feet.
Dealing with the four guards had taken only seconds and made no noise.
Now the rescuers quickly seized their victims and dragged them into the
hollow, out of sight of those at the mound.
The group of captives huddled there cowered back from them in fear. They
had witnessed the savage killing of the guards in horror, watched now with
a mixture of alarm and
205
bewilderment as the four laid out the bloody bodies and approached them.
Aine quickly moved ahead of her companions, addressing the inhabitants of

the Sidhe in soothing, friendly tones.
"It's all right. You all know me. I'm Aine. We've come to set you free.'
The gathering took heart as they recognized her and saw Lugh and
Morrigan strip off their uniforms.
"That's right," Lugh said. "You're going to have to leave here, escape into
the Sidhe and hide. Do you understand?"
Some of them nodded, but he could tell by their expressions that most of
them were too confused or too stunned by recent events to be trusted to act
alone.
They were like a flock of sheep caught in a violent storm, bunched,

together, not wanting to move.
"Aine," he said, "someone is going to have to take them in hand or they'll
never get away."
"I know," she agreed. "Poor things. It was never intended that they should
have to deal with anything like this."
Morrigan, meanwhile, had been examining one of the strange weapons of

the guards. The gleaming silver ball fascinated the raven in her, held her
eye.
Curious, she reached out a bony finger to touch it.
"Don't do that!" a young man in the group warned her.
She jerked back the finger, her head snapping around to him.
"What do you mean?" she rasped.
"That globe holds some kind of power. It was strong enough to knock one
of your friends down. It only has to touch your body lightly to work."
She nodded a curt thanks. Then, still curious, she lifted the spear by the
thick shaft and examined it more closely. She could feel a vibration through
it, presumably from this power that it held. Halfway down the shaft were
some odd indentations and a small knob. This she experimentally turned,
first left, then right. The vibration increased one way, faded nearly away the
other. She returned it to the original point and, feeling it was nothing to play
about with, set it carefully back upon the ground.
"All right," Aine said to the others. "We've gotten this far. What will we do
next?"
206
CHAMPIONS OF THE SlDHE
"Let's see what's happening," Lugh suggested.

Carefully they climbed back to the rim of the hollow, just high enough so
that the mound was visible. Nothing there had changed. Their friends were
still gathered before Balor. The soldiers were still gathering below. No one
was moving their way or taking note of them. So far they were safe.
Aine considered the situation upon the mound and shook her head.
"There is no possible way for us to get to them. Not with Balor and all those
Fomor there."
"There is one," Lugh said, trying to sound determined. "But I'm afraid it
calls for me to attack Balor head-on."
"Attack him?" Aine said in disbelief. "How can you do that?"
"Very simple. I'll summon the Riders of the Sidhe and we'll go in at him.
Those soldiers of his won't be able to stop them."
"And what about that eye?" she pointed out.
"Oh, the eye," he said lightly, as if it were unimportant. "The Riders should
be able to counter that." He smiled with what he intended to be confidence.
It didn't quite work. "Our power against theirs, eh? Should be exciting."
"Lugh, you don't know how powerful Balor is," she argued. "Some land of
Fomor energy has already scattered the Riders once!"
He looked at her, his attempt at assurance gone, his voice grim. "I'm not
fond of this myself. But I'm afraid we're out of alternatives. If I'm not
mistaken, they're preparing to do something unpleasant to your brother
We're nearly out of time."
She looked up toward the mound. It did look as if the familiar lanky figure
was being tied to one of the stone pillars.
"All right," she said. "Send the Riders. But you don't have to lead them."
He met her eyes. "You know I do. Balor is away from his Tower and his
ships.
He may never be this vulnerable again. If there's a chance to destroy him,

this is it. I've got to try."
She knew that he was right. She wanted to say more, but she held back. Her
own feelings couldn't interfere. This was what he had to do. She nodded.
He smiled. "I was rather hoping you'd talk me out of it."
"I'm going with you," she said.
He shook his head. "You can't. You've got to get up on that mound while
I've got their attention and try to set the others
BATTLE FOB THE SIDHE
207
free. Otherwise, if I do fail ..." He stopped, not wanting to complete the

thought.
"We'll be no better off," she finished for him. "I understand." Her emotions
now in rigid check, she was the experienced fighter again, considering the
strategy with cold practicality.
"Be careful," he told her. "We can't risk everyone being caught. Someone's
got to take that cauldron back to Tara."
"We all will," she told him with certainty.
"All right. I'm off then," he said briskly. "I'll work my way around to the far
side of the mound and call the Riders there. That'll draw their attention
away from you. As soon as you see the Riders coming, send these people
out and come ahead."
She nodded again. Without more words, Lugh started away, heading into
the foliage and out of sight. As soon as he was gone, Aine, the Pooka, and
Morrigan gathered the captives and prepared them to make their own
escape.
Meanwhile, the young warrior made his way in a wide circuit about the
mound.
He was not hindered this time by having to avoid Fomor patrols. Nearly all
the soldiers were now gathered in neat ranks below the mound. He moved
quickly to a point directly opposite the hollow and separated from the
mound by a wide, open, and nearly level meadow. Perfect for an attack, he
thought. Though it would make the Riders, and himself, easy marks for the
power of that blasted eye.
He stared for a moment at the black giant. As before, he felt a deep fear of
the strange being. But he felt an anger too. It had destroyed his home, killed
his father, and was trying to wipe out the de Danann race. Champion of the
Sidhe or not, he had his own reasons for wanting to make a try at Balor of
the One Eye.
The crimson eye was opening a fraction wider now, he noted. Its beam was
falling upon the bound form of Manannan. Lugh realized that it was time to
act, and quickly, or it might be too late for the Master of the Sidhe. He
closed his eyes and began the incantation that would, once more, summon
the Riders to him.
209
XXIV
CLASH OF POWERS
MANANNAN WAS TRYING very hard not to scream. He had decided

early on that he was not going to give this collection of iron junk the
satisfaction of seeing him in pain, just now he was wishing he had not made
such a rash promise to himself. A scream or two might be somewhat
relieving.
He wondered why his clothes didn't burst into flames from the heat playing
over him. The ruby beam must certainly be that hot. He recalled a day in his
youth when he had played on the beach under a rare, bright sun and spent
the next days lying motionless, in agony. His skin must look as burned now.
He wondered if he would swell up, his skin crackling and bursting like a
roasted pig's. He didn't much like that picture and hurriedly pushed it from
his mind. He went back to concentrating on keeping the careless grin upon
his face.
The light snapped off abruptly, and cooling air rushed in, feeling nearly
frigid in its contrast. He opened his eyes and peered upward, blinking to
clear the afterglow.
"You are a stubborn man"—the metallic voice clattered sharply—"or a

totally mad one."
"That's been suggested before," Manannan managed to respond cheerily.
"Why are you enduring this suffering for the de Dananns?" the giant
demanded.
"What do they mean to you that you should want to help them?"
The tall man shrugged as best he could, bound as he was to the standing
stone.
"Its something to occupy my free time."
"I ask you again: Abandon them. Promise you'll give no more help to them
and give the cauldron to me. Then you may stay on your isle and play your
games of Sea-God all you wish."
"No," Manannan said regretfully. "I'm sorry, but that's really not possible."
208
"You'll die, you know. And it won't save anything. The cauldron will never
reach Tara now."
Manannan grinned up at the inhuman face. "Maybe."
There was a silence. The shuttered eye that rested upon him was so
unmoving, he began to think Balor had fallen asleep. Then the voice came
again, in ringing, measured tones.
"You will die before you tell me anything. I see that. To inflict further pain
upon you would be a waste of time. Salm-hor, release him."
At the officer's gesture, a guard stepped forward and cut the lanky
guardian's bonds. He stepped back toward his companions, trying to ignore
the pain of his raw skin as he moved.
"Admitting you're beaten, are you?" he inquired lightly.
"I am changing my method, that is all!" Balor flatly replied. "If your own
pain will not force you to help me, perhaps the pain of others will."
A shadow of alarm crossed Manannan s face.
"You promised not to harm my people again," he reminded Balor. He

sensed what was coming next.
"Your people, yes. But not your companions. Your good de Danann friends
whose welfare concerns you so much."
The gaze moved slowly from one of them to another as the iron voice went
on.
"Which one? Not the Dagda, I think, though I would like to see what would
break him. And young Angus will quite likely prove stubborn as well. But
the old Druid—"
"You'll not be harming him, One-Eye," the Dagda shouted angrily at the
giant, moving in front of the little man. "Try your burning look on me!"
"I don't need the likes of you protecting me," Findgoll said with
indignation.
He pushed past the bulk of the warrior to look up challengingly at the

towering figure, hands on hips and pointed chin thrust out in a defiant
gesture. "Do what you can to me, Balor. I'm not afraid of you."
"You will both have your chance," the being assured them. "At least, you
will if your 'Sea-God' refuses to help me."
"You surely do have a nasty turn of mind, Balor,' Manannan said, his
thoughts working desperately. He had done everything he could to delay
this inevitable moment. "Would my giving you the cauldron save them?"
"It would," came the flat reply.
210
BATTLE FOB THE SIDHE
211
"No!" the Dagda protested, "You can't give in!"
"Quiet!" Manannan retorted with some heat. "Bargaining is all I've got left
now."
"Very reasonable," said Balor.
"The Dagda and these others will be set free, allowed to return to Eire?" he
asked.
"Once I have the cauldron, they are no threat to me."
"You'd go away, leave my people and my Sidhe unharmed?"

"You would never be disturbed by us again."
"And all I have to do for this is to betray the de Dananns and allow them to
be slaughtered by Bres. Is that it?"
The massive barrel head inclined slightly in affirmation.
"That's a very generous offer," Manannan said with apparent seriousness.
"Would you mind if I took a bit of time to think it over?"
"Time?" asked Balor. "How much time?"
"Oh, I don't know," Manannan said, considering. "It's a very crucial thing,
isn't it? I mean, it's not to be taken lightly. It requires a great deal of good,
hard, careful thought. A day, perhaps?"
The answer came in an echoing clang of sound.
"You have no intention of accepting this bargain!"
Manannan grinned ruefully. "I didn't really think you'd go along. I took a
chance on it anyway."
"You're only trying to delay, aren't you?" Balor demanded. "Why? What are
you waiting for?"
A faint rushing sound came to Manannan's ears. It was like the sound of
wind, but he knew it was something else. As it grew louder, he looked
toward its source.
"For that!" he said, and lifted an arm to gesture toward a distant edge of the
vast Sidhe.
As Balor and the others looked toward it, a stream of light, like molten
silver, flowed into view. Sinuously it wound through the foliage, rocks, and
hills, making its way swiftly toward the mound. At the far edge of the wide
meadows that lay below one side of the mound, the silver stream slowed,
spread, pouring forward into a glowing line that came finally to a halt.
As it did, the bright aura about it faded away, revealing the figures of
mounted warriors, slender lances set forward for the attack.
Balor recalled them from the vague images projected by Mathgen's mind.
He knew they were the Riders of the Sidhe. And he also knew the youthful
warrior who now appeared from the shelter of a shrub and ran to the Riders.
His cold, echoing voice could not disguise the astonishment he felt.
"Lugh!"
The captives on the mound were surprised as well, save for Manannan.
They watched, amazed, as Lugh reached a riderless horse—a tall,
aristocratic grey—at the center of the line of Riders and leaped agilely onto
the animals back.
"The clown was right!" the Dagda said.
"Again," Findgoll added pointedly.
As Lugh joined the Riders' company, they began to move, beginning a

charge directly across the meadows toward the mound. Balor's head
swiveled toward his officer and his orders rattled out.
"Salmhor, send our whole force against them now! Quickly! Don't let them
near this hill!"
The officer headed away at a run, crying out commands to the Fomor
grouped below. The disciplined veterans formed up in moments and headed
forward to engage the advancing horsemen.
"You'll not find these beings so useless or so frail, Balor," Manannan said,
smiling with satisfaction. "Or so easy to kill."
"That we will see," the Commander replied, no flutter of concern in the cold
drone of his voice.
The two lines closed, a hundred Fomor engaging twenty Riders. But the
plunging rank of shining horsemen never slowed, driving into the attacking
men, the gleaming spear points thrusting through the Fomor like a ray of
light striking through a pane of glass. Impaled on the weapons, the soldiers
were lifted from their feet and thrown back into their fellows. As they fell,
the lances slipped free of them at once and rose, ready to strike again.
The Fomor ranks were thrown into confusion. They scattered before the
attackers and a confused melee began. When the Fomor tried to get in
behind the horsemen to strike at them, the Riders wheeled their lithe, quick
mounts around to drive their bright spears home. Lugh moved amongst
them, using his own Answerer with as much skill, slashing through the
Fomor ranks.
212
Back in the hollow, the watching Pooka signaled to his companions that the
battle had been joined. Aine and Morrigan began to direct and shoo the
people of Manannan out.
"Keep going!" Aine admonished them. "And don't stay in the Sidhe! Get
out of it as quickly as you can!"
Frightened, uncertain of what to do, they moved slowly at first. But finally
they got the idea and began scampering away like rabbits released from a
pen, bursting from the hollow and scattering in all directions. Soon the vast
countryside of the Sidhe had swallowed them up.
As soon as they were all safely away, the three companions drew together
and left the hollow themselves. But their way was directly toward the
mound. Time had come for them to make their own attempt.
With great caution they moved up toward the little hill, taking advantage of
what cover they could find. But they were in little danger of being noticed.
All the attention of those on the mound was directed toward the fight on the
far side.
They reached its slopes, crept up them, lying down to crawl the last distance
to the top. Lifting their heads just far enough to peep over the crest, they
surveyed the scene before them.
Balor had now moved his huge, wheeled throne across the mound's top to
the opposite side to observe the battle more closely. Slightly behind him,
within the circle of standing stones, the prisoners stood surrounded by a
dozen of the helmeted guards. Most of them, too, were more interested in
the battle raging below than in their charges.
It was clear to the three watchers that if they struck quickly, they had a good
chance of getting their companions safely away before anyone could stop
them. Save for Balor.
If Lugh could draw the power of Balor's eye to him and keep it there, even
for a few moments, they could move. Aine only wished she could be certain
that Lugh and the Riders could survive that power.
For now, the towering figure was sitting motionless, the deadly eye nearly
closed, its power contained behind the heavy lid. Balor watched the forces
contending on the meadows below him impassively, like a chess player
examining his board.
Soon, however, it became evident that the Fomor would not win this fight.
Even when a soldier did manage to get close enough to strike at a Rider, his
weapon seemed to encounter
213
only air, sliding through the horseman as if he were made of mist. Yet the
spears of the Riders and Lugh s Answerer were solid and deadly enough in
their turn, inflicting great slaughter on the hapless troops.
The Fomor withdrew, trying to regroup, but Lugh led the Riders against
them again at once, allowing them no rest, driving the panicking soldiers
back toward the mound in a retreat that turned quickly to a rout. The Fomor
began fleeing to escape the gleaming lance points of the charging Riders.
"You see, Balor," Manannan said with some pride. "We aren't as powerless
as you think. Release us before they reach you or you will be destroyed."
If the guardian was hoping to frighten Balor to surrender, he was quickly

disappointed. The dark figure's reply came in heavy hammer strokes.
"They will be the ones destroyed, you fool. Watch!"
The lid of the eye began to lift, the hairline slit widened to a narrow crack.
The power of the eye, still only a fraction of its full potential, streamed out
in a hard, clear ruby beam, shooting toward the horsemen.
But Lugh had anticipated this. As soon as he saw the eye begin to widen, he
ordered the Riders together. Swiftly they gathered into a tight circle around
him. As one, they raised their lances to point at Balor. At each weapons tip
appeared the intense white glow. The tendrils of light leaped quickly around
the circle, intertwining to form the ring of light. As the last link joined, the
energy leaped outward from the Riders, blazing toward Balor in a thick
silver column.
Midway between the two, the ruby beam met it. They slammed together
with a thunderclap and flash of lightning explosion. Then they held there,
the two forces—mystic and mechanical—pouring against one another like
jets of water, flattening against one another while their edges curled back,
shredded, flickered away.
They crackled with the contending energies. The air around them was
charged with tingling electricity. The whole Sidhe vibrated from the
enormous power being expended in a duel that seemed to match opponents
of equal strength.
As soon as this struggle joined, the three began to launch their rescue
attempt.
They left the edge of the hill, creeping forward to the shelter of the nearest
standing stones. Aine peered cautiously around
214
hers. The prisoners were only a few paces away now. Their guards were all
looking the other way.
Aine took up a pebble and tossed it against the tall man's back. At first she
thought Manannan hadn't felt it. But then he turned very slightly and cast a
quick look toward his sister. His face registered no surprise at seeing her.
One eye gave only the briefest of winks to show that he acknowledged her
presence.
On the field beyond the mound, the contest between the Riders and Balor
continued. But after an initial balance of the two powers, the crimson beam
of the giants energy was beginning to push back the shield of silver light.
Aine realized that the Riders were going to lose. It would be only moments
until the red light reached the Riders themselves, and there was no way to
know what would happen then. If she and her companions meant to act,
they had to do it now.
Praying that Lugh would manage to escape, she drew her sword, signaled
the others, and leaped to the attack.
The three drove into the guards with speed and ferocity, ruthlessly cutting
down the first ones before they could defend themselves. The rest turned,
startled to find themselves confronted by two armed and deadly women and
a very large, very savage cat.
The captives reacted instantly, charging forward to join the fight, unarmed
as they were. As Angus saw his friends begin to close with the guards, he
wondered if they knew of the danger of the strange power-spears.
"Don't let them touch you with the silver globes!" he called to the three, and
launched himself at a guard about to swing at Aine.
The man was knocked forward by the weight of Angus and thudded down.
As he tried to roll over, Angus struck out with his fist. He knocked the man
unconscious, wrenched the power-spear from him, and got up.
"My turn!" he said with a savage glee and swung the weapon toward
another charging guard.
The globe slammed into the mans stomach. Its released energy doubled him
up and threw him backward. He dropped to the ground like bundled rags,
sizzling from the power that had coursed through him. Startled by the
effect, Angus looked down at the weapon. He realized that its energy had
now been increased to a level meant to kill.
By this time the Dagda, too, had snatched up one of the BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
215
weapons from a fallen guard and taken on a pair of attackers. He had no

time or use for the fine points of parry and thrust, instead using his spear as
a club, smashing the guards' weapons away, felling them with tremendous,
swinging blows.
Minding Angus's warning, the others engaged in careful fights with the
remaining guards. Aine and Morrigan found that the heavy spears were
cumbersome to wield, and the Fomor had little chance against their rapid,
skillful swordplay. The Pooka darted here and there about them, throwing
its sinewy body upon any enemy it could get behind, dragging him down,
and finishing him quickly.
It was a brief, bloody struggle. In moments all the guards were beaten. The
Dagda looked down at a fallen opponent and shook his head.
"So these are Balor's best warriors," he said with disgust. "Phaw!"
"All right!" Manannan told the others briskly. "Off the mound. Hurry!
There's not much time."
He was certainly right. The ruby beam was drawing ever closer to the
Riders, its light beginning to bleed into the silver glow, tingeing it with
rose. Lugh had already realized that Balor's power was too strong. Still, he
couldn't break off the fight now. If he couldn't defeat Balor, he had to at
least be certain his friends had a chance to escape. So, instead of
withdrawing the Riders, he sent them forward, directly into the beam of
crimson light. He would see to it that Balor was fully occupied.
They pressed forward against the energy driving upon them. Baior
increased it, using the full force of the eye in an attempt to reach them. It
blazed from the hilltop like a red sun. It beat upon the shrinking silver
shield. Behind it, Lugh felt the heat begin to build.
"Can't we help him?" Aine asked her brother urgently.
He shrugged. "We can always try. You come with me. You Others, get off
this mound now."
"But we can help too!" the Dagda argued. "We'll all attack that monster!"
"And we'll all be killed. A direct attack won't harm that pile of iron.
Remember the cauldron, man! Someone's got to escape. So get away!

Quickly!"
Reluctantly, the Dagda and the others agreed. The big man lifted the little
Druid and they moved down the slope and away
216
into the foliage. Manannan and his sister charged across the hilltop boldly,
coming right up beneath Balor's back.
They stared up at the being. The massive, square-cornered throne rose to
twice their height, and the broad back of Balor himself that much higher
again. Both throne and giant hummed with the force being generated inside
to power the eye.
Manannan looked desperately for some way the being might be attacked.
But the smooth metal surface of the back offered no vulnerable spots.
"Give me a boost up," he told his sister.
"What?"
"A boost. Up there. I've got to get closer."
"Closer! You can't climb right on him!" she protested.
"It's all right. He's busy. Now hurry up!"
She made a stirrup with her hands. He put a foot in it. There was great
strength in the slender girl. She lifted her lanky brother high. He stretched,
gripped the top edge of the throne, and hauled himself up.
The barrel head was still far above him. No way to reach it. But this close to
the surface of the back, he could discern a fine, hairline crack. If he could
get his sword . . .
"Look out!" Aine cried from below.
He looked up as one of Balor's huge hands swept down at him and ducked
away as it swished past his head. In his absorption he hadn't noticed the arm
swing up and back to strike at him. Only the awkward position saved him.
But Manannan's presence had clearly attracted the attention of the being,
despite its occupation with the Riders. Balor had now become aware of
what had happened behind him, and his massive voice boomed out
hollowly.
"Salmhor! The guards are dead! I'm being attacked!"

Salmhor and his remaining, exhausted troops were scattered in the
meadows below the mound, awaiting the outcome of the contest. But at his
commander's orders, the officer obediently gathered some soldiers and
headed at a run for the mound.
Manannan gave up his attempt and dropped from the throne to land beside
Aine.
"Run!" he said. "Sorry. There's nothing we can do."
"But Lugh!" she said despairingly.
"We can't help him. We've got to save ourselves. Come on!"
217
And they ran back across the hilltop, down the far slope, heading for shelter
in the vast landscape.
Through the nearly blinding glare, Lugh saw his comrades run from the
hilltop.
At least, he thought, he had the satisfaction of knowing that Balor had been
thwarted in this much.
For him, the battle was nearly over. The ruby light had pressed the silver
back into a thin, curved shield above the circle of Riders. It blasted against
the surface, a jet of energy building in intensity to a blazing peak.
The beam suddenly broke through the shield. The whole of the thin defense
of shimmering white gave way, shattering like ice. In a last gesture of
defense, Lugh lifted his sword before him. The Riders, seeking in their last
instant to protect him, cast the final measure of their power inward, their
glow joining within the circle, forming a hazy globe that enveloped the
young champion.
The full force of the crimson beam fell directly upon it, turning the silver to
a bloody hue for an instant before it swallowed Lugh and the Riders in a
single, swelling burst of radiance.
XXV
SAVING THE SIDHE
SHAKEN BUT UNHARMED, Lugh staggered to his feet. He realized that

the last power of the Riders had protected him. But of those warriors, or of
his own grey horse, there was no sign. Balor's force had snuffed them out as
one would a candle.
He realized the Answerer was gone, too, and looked about for it. It lay some
distance away. He stepped toward it, but a hard voice stopped him.
"If you move any farther, you will die."
He looked up to see the red glow of the single eye fixed steadily upon him,
its destructive energy now lowered. It bathed him with a nearly scorching
heat.
"You see now that your power is nothing against mine," the 218
giant said. "Your mystic energy has no real strength. It is no equal to what
the science of the Fomor has created."
Salmhor and his men had now reached the mounds top. They were in time
to see Aine and her brother disappear into the cover of a thick wall of
bushes.
"Manannan is escaping. Commander!" the officer cried. "Shall we go after

him?"
"No," Balor ordered. "Its of no purpose now."

"I don't understand, Commander," the bewildered officer said. "What about
the Sea-God . . . and the cauldron?"
"They will be taken care of. And we have a much more valuable prize in
exchange. See that our new captive is secured at once. And re-form your
troops."
Salmhor gave orders. Soldiers moved quickly to bind Lugh and bring him
to the mound. The remainder of the badly decimated Fomor company re-
formed again below the mound.
"Commander," the officer said hesitantly as this was done, "if we don't act,
these de Dananns will be free to take their cauldron back to Eire. We could
begin the search again—"
"No," Balor said sharply, cutting him off. The eye lifted to scan the vast
interior of the Sidhe as he went on. "I'm certain that searching further would
be a waste of time. Those silver horsemen entered the mound through some
hidden passage. It's likely the cauldron and this Manannaii's little group
have escaped the same way. And now that he is loose, he may have some
other surprises for us. It is possible that this 'Sea-God' has more powers than
I believed."
The eye came back to Salmhor. "In any event, we'll take no chances. Once
the troops have gathered, we'll start back to the ship. As soon as we are far
enough out to sea, I'll see to it that nothing on this isle survives!"
Lugh heard these last words as he reached the mound.
"You can't do that!" he cried in protest.
"But you know I can, young Lugh," the hard voice replied, the shuttered red
glare falling upon him. "You have seen the full power of this eye yourself."
Lugh knew that he was right. He had witnessed the tremendous force of the
eye blasting apart a massive fortress and the high cliff on which it sat like a
boy destroying a sand building with a kick of the foot.
"Why not destroy me too?" Lugh asked angrily.
219
"Because your appearance here, your survival of the trap set for you, has
proven something to me that I'd never really believed," the giant replied.
"Mathgen thought his own powers might not destroy you. He was right."
The name of Mathgen struck a faintly familiar chord in Lugh's mind. But he
had no time to consider its importance now. Too much else was happening
that he needed to understand.
"You've the power to destroy me," Lugh .said. "Why not use it?"
"Because I now believe that this Prophecy cannot be denied. Manannan, the
cauldron, the de Dananns, are all unimportant. You are the key to the
destruction of the Fomor race. You are the one who will see that the
Prophecy is fulfilled."
"Then kill me."
"The Prophecy does not say you will be killed. It may be that such a thing is
not possible. Perhaps it is dangerous even to try. It may be that so long as
you choose freely to fulfill the Prophecy, it will be your destiny to do so,
and nothing can stop it."
"That's nonsense," Lugh said harshly. "You beat me this time. I couldn't
destroy you."
"This time!" Balor repeated. "Yet you survived. As you have survived so
often before—at the Tower, against Bres, against Mathgen's power. No,
there is some force in you. A dangerous force. My people have none of the
de Dananns' belief in magic, but there is something in you that I have no
wish to challenge. It must be you who ends this Prophecy. You must choose
not to be the Champion.
You must choose not to fulfill this destiny and it will have no more hold
upon you."
Once Lugh had wished to be free of the destiny Manannan had thrust upon
him.
On the point of death he had seen it as false. Now he considered Balor's

words. Was there a truth in them? Did he have a force within him? Was he,
indeed, the key to the destruction of the Fomor and of this metal monster
towering above him?
These thoughts gave him new courage to boldly look up into the glowing
eye.
"You think I would choose to abandon the de Dananns?" He managed a

scornful smile at this notion. "And why would I do that? I am one of them.
My father was their champion, killed by you!"
220
"You are much more than a de Danann, Lugh/' the low ringing voice tolled
out.
"You are also the son of Ethlinn, my own daughter!"
From their shelter in the thickets some distance from the mound, Manannan
and his reunited company watched the '. Fomor and Lugh upon the hill.
"That young fool," the lanky guardian said with unaccustomed heat. "Why
did he have to lead the Riders against ' Balor that way? We could have
escaped without him taking that ' chance. Besides, we're the ones who can
be sacrificed. Not him!"
"You made him the Champion," Aine shot back angrily. "You can't be upset
with him if he acts like one. He was only doing what he thought he had to
do!"
'
Abashed by the truth of this, he smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry. You're

absolutely right. He was very courageous to go at Balor like that. It just
leaves us in a very awkward spot, that's all."
"I still say we didn't have to run," the Dagda said. "We could have stayed
behind and made a real attack on Balor!"
"And gotten ourselves reduced to lumps of ash?" said Manannan. "Fine

help that would have been. This way we might get another chance at him at
least. If I could only use my powers ..."
"Your powers!" the Dagda said in derisive tones. "We've seen precious little
of those!"
"Can't the Riders of the Sidhe be re-formed?" Findgoll asked.
The guardian shook his head. "If they weren't destroyed completely by that
energy of Baler's, it'll likely be a great while before they can recover. I'm
afraid we're on our own, as usual."
He peered out cautiously again from cover, toward the gathering troops.
"It looks as if they've given up on us," he commented. "Balor must have

realized by now that it's useless to try finding us again."
"Do you think they'll leave the isle?" Angus asked.
"It may be. If they do, I might be able to use my powers"— he threw the
Dagda a smile—"regardless of what anyone thinks of them, and rescue
Lugh."
"You might, might you?" the Dagda said, his disdain still BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
221
very evident. "Well, if your powers are so great as all that, there should be
no question of the thing."
"I suppose I could simply destroy them all," Manannan replied dryly. "But I
really don't think we want that, at least so long as Lugh is with them. Our
concern is somehow to get him away from them, under the eye of that
cursed heap of iron."
Across the Sidhe, the Fomor had now formed up in their well-ordered
columns.
Lugh, under a heavy guard, was placed in their center, and the march back
toward the entrance was begun. Behind them, Balor rolled smoothly along
on the massive, wheeled throne, his head pivoting constantly back and
forth, scanning the interior for any movement,
"There they go!" Manannan announced. "We'd better follow them. But I
suggest we let them get well ahead. We don't want to be caught in the gaze
of that flaming eye."
They waited impatiently as the Fomor party climbed the slope to the tunnel
entrance and finally left the Sidhe. Only then did they decide that it was
safe to follow. Still, they moved to the tunnel and through it with great
cautiousness, mindful that the wily Balor might have left a trap behind.
By the time they finally reached the outside of the mound, the metal giant's
force was far ahead, moving across the meadows toward the sea.
"Their ship is in the southwest cove," Aine told her brother. "They really
must be planning to leave."
"Let's go and watch,' Manannan said, with more of his usual buoyant nature
returned to him. "We can wave good-bye. '
The little band made quite a peculiar sight as it stealthily pursued the Fomor
troops across the fields. Their adventures had left all of them looking as
ragged as Manannan was in his clown dress. With his gawky figure,
massive Dagda, cadaverous Morrigan, tiny Findgoll, and the lion-shaped
Pooka together, they looked more like a party of traveling entertainers than
of determined rescuers.
When the Fomor reached the cove, Manannan led his comrades to a vantage
point where they could safely watch the activity below. They saw, drawn up
close to the shore, a familiar black ship of the Tower fleet, but half again as
large as the others. A wide bridge of flat metal sheets had been built from it
up across the rocky beach to the smooth ground above. The soldiers had
already marched down it, taking their prisoner to the waiting ship. Balor
was in the process of descending now,
222
the wheeled contraption inching slowly but steadily down the steep incline.
Once he had reached the bottom and was alongside the ship, a massive
crane was swung out on a boom. Men scurried to affix its cables to
protrusions on Balors throne. Then, with a loud and labored groaning
sound, like some great beast straining under the immense load, the crane
rose up, lifting the Commander, swinging him aboard, lowering him to rest
in the ships stern. There, the base of the throne was settled by more men
into grooves in the metal deck, and heavy latches were forced into place,
locking it firmly down.
"Fascinating," Manannan remarked, honestly intrigued. "They actually

attach him to the ship. Couldn't have him just rolling about, I guess."
With Balor settled, Lugh was brought to stand by him, under a heavy guard.
Many of the soldiers went below deck while the Fomor sailors took their
stations. From his own position just beside his commander, Sital Salmhor
gave the final orders to depart. At once the ship's forces boomed to life,
settling quickly to a deep, steady, throbbing sound. The sleek vessel backed
away from the shore and turned its sharp prow toward the sea.
"Right!" Manannan said with satisfaction. "Now all we have to do is let

them get out a bit, and we can act."
"I'm not certain that I really want to know," the Dagda said warily, "but
does that mean you have another plan?"
"I do," the tall man said, grinning with his old charm. "And better than the
last."
"I surely hope it is," the other replied.
The black ship was well out into the sea by now, slashing through the waves
toward the bank of fog lining the horizon.
Manannan was expecting to see it continue on. He was surprised when its
forward speed was reduced and it fell away from its course, swinging
around to run slowly, parallel to the coast.
The ship was still only a short distance out, and close enough for
Manannan's party to see clearly, when the barrel head of Balor began
swiveling toward them. As it did, the glitter of the eye, at first only a bright
red point of light, began to grow sharply in intensity.
Manannan was the first to grasp the ominous significance in this.
223
"Balors not leaving!" he cried. "He's going to destroy the isle from there!"
He leaped boldly up onto the rocks above the sea and stretched out his arms
toward the waves. Almost at once, the sea made its response. There began a
roaring sound, distant but growing rapidly, like constant rolling thunder
sweeping in. Aboard the Fomor ship, the alarmed sailors turned to look out
toward it. They saw a line of high, sharp waves sweep from the fog band
and descend upon them with incredible speed.
Unaware of this, Balor was steadying his gaze upon the isle, focusing his
power upon the peak of the mound visible above the shore. The destructive
beam shone out as the first wave struck the ship sideways on. It heeled the
vessel over suddenly, jerking down the crimson gaze. The force of it struck
the rocky shore near the company of heroes, shaking the island with the
force of its explosion, blasting out a cavern that would have held Tara's
central hall.
The little company was knocked down, showered with the fine fragments of
the rock. As they staggered up again, the Dagda called out warningly to the
guardian:
"Let's not just get him pointing that eye at us, shall we?"
On the ship, Sital Salmhor gave orders to his helmsmen to quickly turn the
bow into the new, incoming line of waves. Balor, trying to hold his aim
upon the Sidhe, bellowed in his anger.
"Salmhor, what are you doing? Hold this ship steady!"
"We cannot, Commander!" the officer protested desperately. "We'll be

swamped!"
The ship came about quickly enough to take the next waves three-quarters
across the bow. It rocked dangerously, but managed to crash through. Now
realizing that something strange was happening, Balor swung his massive
head around to see the lines of waves, one close upon another, rolling out
from the fog toward them. He understood.
"All right. Turn into them. But keep this ship as steady as you can! I'm not
leaving here without wiping away that mound!"
He turned his gaze once more toward the peaceful green isle. This time he
noted the tiny group of figures clustered on the rocks above the shore. Even
at that distance he recognized the "Sea-God's" lanky form.
224
"Manannan," the voice clanged out. "This is some trick of his."
"But, Commander, you said he had no powers you couldn't defeat,"

Salmhor reminded him.
"Never mind!" Balor said sharply. "Hold steady!"
The giant tried once more to fix his gaze upon the shore, this time aiming at
the Guardian of the Isle himself. But the next incoming wave struck the
ship, sweeping under it, lifting it high, dropping it forward into the trough
beyond where yet another wave swooped it up almost at once. The dizzying
rise and fall made it impossible to direct a beam from the eye.
"Please, Commander," Salmhor said desperately, "we must put on some

forward speed or the waves will drive us under. They are coming faster
every moment!"
Balor considered. If this sudden attack of the sea was caused by Manannan,
then the being did have enormous and dangerous powers. He might even
use them to try destroying the ship if he thought it would save his isle. A
strategic retreat for now seemed the most sensible course.
"Very well, Salmhor," he agreed. "We can see to Manannans Isle later. Head
out to sea. Full speed!"
When the guardian realized that the black ship was headed away and that
Balor had given up the attack, he ceased his own at once. He dropped his
arms and jumped down from the rocks. The sea waves died immediately
and the water returned to a gently rippling calm.
"What are you doing?" Aine protested. "You'll let them get away!"
"If I tried to use the waves to hold them, I might sink the craft," he told her
reasonably. "It wouldn't save Lugh for us. He's bound and under guard. No,
we've got to find a way to free him and somehow get him off before I
unleash my real force on that monster's ship."
He began a rapid descent to the beach, whistling loudly as he went.

Puzzled, the others scrambled after him.
By the time they reached the edge of the sea, a very peculiar craft had
appeared around the northern point of the cove, moving briskly toward
them in answer to the master's call.
It was a large and very ornate chariot-of-war pulled by a prancing team of

graceful white horses. They glided across the wavetops, wheels churning up
a frothy wake, horses' hooves planting firmly on the waters surface as if it
were solid earth.
225
Manannan realized with amusement that his companions from Eire were
staring rather openmouthed at this incredible sight. The Dagda looked at
him and spoke, this time with genuine awe.
"You really are the Sea-God!"
"Please, don't say it with such reverence," Manannan protested. "I'm a man
with a certain amount of magical power. Incredibly handsome, yes.
Brilliant, witty, bold, all of that. But still a man, and your friend. Don't let
that change."
"How can those horses do that?" Angus asked. "They act as if they were
trotting across a field!"
"It seems that way to them," Manannan explained. "To their eyes, they're on
the most normal and solid of meadows. They'd balk if they thought they
were walking on the sea. Actually, it's a fairly simple bit of magic to harden
up briefly the waves just in the chariot's path. I've found it a most effective
device for frightening away fishermen who happen too close to the isle. A
sword-waving man in a chariot on the sea sends them into a panic! And, of
course, it helps build up the Sea-God image."
"I've seen Dan us High-Druids use the spell," said Findgoll, more impressed
than ever by Manannan's power. "Of course, they wouldn't teach its use to
us.
They said we could never control it."
"Look, could you two carry on your little talk some other time?" the Dagda
injected with some irritation. "That ship is carrying Lugh farther away
every moment. We've got to do something."
"Nothing can really be done quite yet," Manannan told him placidly. "I
want to give them time to get well into the fog band first. They can't think
anyone is coming after them."
The chariot had now reached them, the team trotting up upon the shore,
pulling to a halt right beside the little band. Manannan hopped into the car.
"What are you going to do?" asked Aine.
"Only surprise can save Lugh," he explained. "Someone has got to sneak
aboard and free Lugh." He looked at the raven-woman. "Morrigan, I'm
afraid it's got to be you. Will you come?"
Without a word, the black-cloaked warrior climbed into the chariot beside
him.
Knowing her dislike of the sea, Manannan's admiration for her increased.
"What about the rest of us?" the Dagda asked.
226
"Force will gain us nothing this time," he replied. "One person alone may
have a chance to get to Lugh with my help."
Each of the others demanded that they be the one allowed to take this risk,
Aine most stridently, But Manannan held up a silencing hand.
"I know how you all feel, but you've got to trust me again in this. I can't get
close enough for you to climb aboard, and none of you can fly there."
"I can," said a quiet voice.
Manannan looked toward it, seeing the curious lion-beast who had
accompanied them from the Sidhe.
"Oh, hello," he said politely. "I'd quite forgotten you. You're a Pooka, aren't
you?"
It nodded. "My name is Shaglan."
"I've been meaning to ask how it was you joined our little band."
"It saved. Lugh in Eire," Aine hastened to explain. "It's been very helpful to
us since."
"Yes," Manannan agreed. "I saw it on the mound. Most effective."
"It's still not to be trusted." Morrigan cawed harshly.
At this the Pooka looked hurt.
"I know their reputation," the tall man said, "but if he's a friend to Lugh,
he's welcome with us!"
The Pooka smiled with renewed confidence. "And I could help you now,"
he ofiered earnestly. "I could fly to the ship as well."
"I'll take no help from the likes of it," Morrigan said, fixing the animal with
her sharp gaze. "Neither Lugh nor I would survive.
"Morrigan could be right," the Dagda put in. "I don't know what this one's
done, but nothing would convince me of their good intent. They've betrayed
us before, and this one may just be waiting to do it again. This is Lugh's life
we're talking about. We surely can't be risking it with a Pooka!"
The faces of Angus and Findgoll mirrored the suspicion and hostility their
friends had voiced. Shaglan looked around at them despairingly, finally
meeting the eyes of Aine.
"Aine, please tell them," it implored her. "You know me. You know I'd not
betray Lugh. Tell them I only want to help."
She looked into the large, dark, soulful eyes. She wanted to BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
227
support the poor beast, but she couldn't. Her heart told her to trust it, but her
mind was still clouded with the old distrust of its treacherous family.
There was too much uncertainty, and she couldn't allow that to endanger
Lugh.
She shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry, Shaglan," she said with great regret.
"I just cannot take the chance. Please understand."
Crushed by this rejection, the whole animal wilted before their eyes. Its
spirit gone, it let its form go, too, and lost all definition, becoming a vague,
shifting conglomeration of animal parts, all sagging together in a poignant
image of dejection.
It turned without another word and slunk away, climbing up from the beach
and vanishing from sight.
Manannan shook his head. "Too bad. But, you may have acted for the best.
And Morrigan can likely do this better alone."
He looked back out to sea. The Fomor vessel had by now reached the band
of fog, and its sleek hull sliced into the thick grey like a knife into a loaf of
bread, slipping quickly out of sight.
"Ah, time to go!" he announced. "Hang on, Morrigan."
With that he took up the reins and, with a brief farewell wave to the others,
ordered the team away. The horses swiftly pulled the chariot to sea, and in
moments it was far out in the cove, skimming away at an increasing speed.
Behind him on the shore he left a collection of very worried faces.
"What if they fail?" the Dagda asked bluntly.
"If anyone can succeed in this, it is Manannan," Aine replied with what
assurance she could raise.
"What if they fail?" he asked again, more insistently.
229
XXVI
THE BLACK SHIP
WITHIN THE FOG, Manannan was urging the team forward, but at a much
slower pace. The great wheels softly rolled across the waves. The fog that
enveloped them was like a muffler, deadening all noise.
"I wanted Balor's ship well into the fog before we came too close," he
whispered to Morrigan. "As soon as we're in sight of it, you only have to fly
to it without being seen, release Lugh, and get over the side with him. Then
I'll sweep in and pick you up." He grinned. "It's quite simple, really."
"I cannot swim," the low, hoarse voice croaked out.
"Lugh can," he replied reassuringly. "And I'll be close by. It'll work out.
Just trust me."

She gave him a chill, glittering look but didn't reply. She stood stiffly, furled
in her cloak, her hand clutching the rail of the chariot, her skull-h'ke face an
emotionless mask. Only the white knuckles of her bony hand upon the rail
revealed her inner tension. Manannan noted it, amused but unconcerned. No
matter what her fears, he knew that when the time for action came, she
would be wholly the fearless warrior.
"As soon as you have Lugh off that ship, I can turn my powers fully against
it," he told her with anticipation. "Then we can see who really is the
stronger here." Something in the fog ahead caught his attention then, and he
peered toward it.
"Ah, there it is!" he said, pointing.
Faintly, at first only a grey shape floating in the clouds, the Fomor ship
came into view.
"We'll have to move in closer," he said softly. "We have to be able to see
what's happening on the deck."
"It would help if something could distract the Fomor," she said.
"That," he replied, "will be taken care of soon."
Aboard the black ship, the giant figure of Balor had just 228
finished scanning the fog-shrouded seas behind. His metallic voice held a
distinct note of satisfaction as he spoke to Lugh, under guard before him.
"Your 'Sea-God' has clearly given up any other attempts to stop me. Ill
return later to finish our little contest. But he is of no matter now. Returning
to the Tower with you is our only concern. Once you see that you are wrong
to help the de Dananns against us, their foolish little rebellion will come to
nothing, even if your companions do succeed in returning that cauldron to
Eire."
"Dragging me to your iceberg is a waste of your time, Balor," Lugh said

fiercely. You'll never convince me that I'm vour grandson. My mother could
never have been the daughter to a monstrous thing like you!"
"I will not explain the ways of it to you," the voice rumbled slowly. "But
you know the truth of it in your heart and in the deepest part of your mind.
Think! Feel! Then deny it."
With a growing sense of unease, Lugh considered Balor's words. Were they
the truth? Was that why he had felt that strange sense of kinship with the
traitorous Bres? Was it because they were alike in this, both half-breeds, the
blood of two races flowing in their veins?
He pushed the idea away. No, it was impossible. It was a trick by this
ruthless being to confuse him, to convince him to withdraw his help from
the de Dananns.
"You'll never get me to change my mind, Balor," he said with

determination. "I know what you are and what you've done. So you'd best
destroy me right now if you can, because I'll do all I can to destroy you!"
"Sooner or later, you will come to believe," the giant said. His gaze shifted
to his officer. "Salmhor, take him below and secure him there. As soon as
we are clear of this fog, get the sail up and set a course directly for the
Tower."
Salmhor and an escort of soldiers took Lugh forward. As they walked, the
young warrior looked around him in curiosity. He had never seen one of the
great black ships of the Tower so closely. Despite his perilous situation, he
found himself fascinated.
Just forward of the stern where Balor's throne sat was a small, square
structure with open doors on either side. As they moved past it, Lugh
glanced inside, noting a Fomor busy over a complex array of gadgets,
levers, and wheels. These, he as-230

231
sumed, were the mechanisms that somehow controlled tht-huge vessel.
Just beyond this structure, the deck opened up, a wide, flat expanse of dark
metal whose surface was patterned with small, raised diamonds. Along the
sides, waist-high rails prevented anyone's falling overboard. Fomor now
lined those rails, peering with great interest and a bit of concern into the
rolling banks of fog. Far ahead, at the sharply pointed prow, there was a
raised platform. More Fomor were clustered there, several busy around an
enormous crossbow, like ones Lugh had seen before but many times larger.
They were cranking back its thick string, setting in its firing channel a bolt
thicker than his leg.
Clearly they were preparing for something, waiting for something. He

wondered what? And then he realized. They still had to contend with the
weird and often deadly menagerie of sea creatures that inhabited
Manannan's protective fog.
In the center of the deck, just before the towering mast, they reached a
large, rectangular opening. A set of metal stairs led down from there into
the dim interior of the ship. With Salmhor leading the way, they descended
below the main deck, into a narrow corridor. Small, glowing squares set at
regular intervals along the corridor ceiling coldly lit the blank grey metal
walls.
They revealed doors, widely spaced along either side.
At the first door on their right, Salmhor stopped, turning a latch and
swinging the heavy panel back. He stepped aside, directing the soldiers to
take Lugh through. The room beyond was long but narrow, the outer wall
formed by the ship's hull. curving out and up. It was a storage room, Lugh
judged, with tiers of kegs stacked and roped against the inner wall, arid
other types of equipment—boxes, barrels, covered lumps oi no recognizable
shape—all securely tied to heavy cleats in the deck to prevent their shifting.
Salmhor had the soldiers fasten Lugh to one of these cleats set in the outer
hull. They used a heavy chain with shackhs that clamped tightly about his
ankles, the sharp edges pressing into the flesh. Boltlike objects locked them
securely.
Salmhor ordered the guards back to the door and stood looking at Lugh, an
arrogant smirk of triumph on his lips.
From his belt he pulled the sheathed Answerer, which he had carried
aboard. He stepped toward Lugh, holding it up temptingly.
"I thought you might wish to look at this, at least," he taunted.
Lugh made a sudden leap forward, reaching out in a desperate attempt to

grasp the blade. It was just the move Salmhor had hoped for. He had
carefully stayed just outside Lughs short reach. Now he stepped back as the
shackles at the warriors ankles tripped him up. Lugh fell forward, crashing
heavily to the hard deck. As he did, Salmhor stepped forward, swinging his
heavily booted foot into Lughs ribs.
The young man grunted at the blow, rolling onto his side. He looked up into
the grinning face of the officer.
"Just too far," Salmhor said with mock regret. "How sad."
Carefully tugging his pristine uniform down smoothly again, he went to the
door and hung the Answerer on a hook beside it.
"There," he said. "Now you'll have something to think about during our
voyage.
You'll never have another chance to use this weapon to humiliate soldiers of
the Tower."
He strode haughtily from the room, slamming the metal door behind him.
Lugh sat up, pressing a hand to his bruised side. He found that the skin of
his ankles had been cut by the shackles, and blood oozed around the edges
of the metal. He examined his prison more carefully, noting a row of cleats
along the outer wall. From each one chains like his own were hung, and the
rust-brown stains upon their heavy cuffs told him that they had been used.
Clearly, the ship had carried captives before.
He sat back against the chill wall in despair, looking at the Answerer, so
maddeningly close. If he could only reach it, he was certain that even these
chains couldn't withstand its magically tempered blade. He looked about
him, but nothing he might use to help him was within his reach. Was he
really doomed to be carried off to Balor's fortress of glass?
Something heavy struck the vessel from below, making the hull vibrate. For
a moment he was puzzled by this, but then he understood. The creatures of
the fog had begun their attack upon the ship.
Perhaps none of them would ever reach the Tower.
232
On the deck above, Balor was already bellowing out his commands.
"Salmhor, see that we keep a straight heading. Ready the men to repel any
attack."
The officer set the helmsman to a steady course, and the black ship knifed
on through the fog. Balor turned his crimson eye toward the sea ahead,
waiting for some form to show itself Fomor armed with spears and long
pikes and crossbows took positions at points along the bulwarks, prepared
in case some creature should manage to reach the vessels side.
Another hard bump came against the hull. This he ignored. The ship was
too large, its surface too hard for any blow to damage it seriously. And if
anything did become visible, even for a moment, Balor would have his
chance.
There was a long pause. The ship glided on in silence save for the soft
gurgle of water under the sleek keel. Then, in the fog ahead, something dark
and massive suddenly loomed up. In panic, the helmsman jerked the vessel
aside to avoid collision. The beam of energy Balor fired went wide,
exploding on the surface of the sea, sending up a geyser of spray.
"Turn from the course again, and you will die!" Balor warned the
helmsman.
The black spear of the ship tore on through the shrouding grey. Another
form rose up before it, a smooth, rounded hump of back and a slender neck
topped by a snakelike head. In bold challenge to the ship, it held position
dead ahead.
This time, however, the ship did not swerve away.
Balor's eye lifted, and a ruby beam of light shot through the swirling clouds
like red-hot iron thrust through a bank of snow, melting it away. It struck
the unprotected body of the beast, burning a tunnel into the flesh. The
animal convulsed in its death agony, rolling over, switching violently across
the surface, large flippers, neck, and tail creating a maelstrom about it
before it sank from sight.
But this single defeat did not frighten away the creatures inhabiting the fog.
Things of many kinds, some impossible to define in the roiling grey, now
came against the Fomor ship in a more unified attack. Other long-necked
beings popped up here and there, only to glide away. A group of Usiage
Baugh—
green-grey water horses with webbed hands for hooves and manes like
flowing seaweed—charged out of the clouds, darted at the ship, and dove
beneath it.
Thick, sucker-coated
233
tentacles crawled over the sides to grab for the Fomor, and massive fish
leaped from the water to strike the vessel's sides. The assault was
continuous and determined. It kept the crew and soldiers of the ship in
constant readiness to fend something off, and it kept Balor's eye in constant
movement, swinging from side to side to send out its deadly beam.
But these creatures had tasted the sting of Balor's eye before. This time they
moved more quickly, stayed farther away, teasing and nagging at the
Fomor, but with some safety. Still, the beam struck home at times, killing or
badly wounding every being it touched.
From the chariot hovering behind and to one side of the black ship,
Morrigan and Manannan watched this struggle begin. They had been close
enough to see Lugh moved below, and now, with the commencement of this
attack, it was time to act.
"All right, Morrigan," Manannan said softly. "We don't dare move closer or
they may take note of us, even busy as they are. Lugh's somewhere inside
that ship. Find him and get him overboard. And remember to go off on this
side so I'll be sure to see you."
"As you said, simple," she hissed.
She made her transformation and rose up, the black form sailing into the
banks of fog. Manannan kept his eyes fixed upon the Fomor ship, holding
the chariot carefully at a constant distance, ready to dart in.
The raven glided silently through the billowing grey to the ship. She made
two high passes above the deck before she identified the opening that led
below.
Then, picking a moment when the Fomor seemed fully occupied by the
menacing creatures, she swooped directly in, arrowing down from the fog
in a black streak, aiming skillfully for the dark rectangle. She went
unobserved by the Fomor along the rails, shooting down the stairway out of
sight.
But her passage was not totally unnoticed. Sital Salmhor, keeping an
officer's eye on the performance of his men, saw the bird flash past. He
knew that black shape, had seen it soaring safely away from him in the
Sidhe. He knew where the raven-woman was heading now.
Balor was occupied, loosing scorching blasts of light at a hovering band of

water horses. The arrogant Salmhor chose to deal with this himself. He
called to three nearby soldiers.
234
"Come with me quickly," he ordered. "Morrigan has just gone to free

Lugh."
Down below, Morrigan had landed in the corridor and, finding it empty, had
made her transformation. Now, sword in hand, she threw open the first door
she reached and leaped inside.
"Morrigan!" Lugh exclaimed with surprise and delight.
She stepped forward, stopping at the sight of his shackles.
"What about those?" she asked sharply.
"Get me the Answerer!" he told her, pointing to it. "There!"
She turned and saw it, moved quickly to it and lifted it from the hook.
Behind her, in the doorway, Lugh saw the movements and the flicker of
light on a keen blade. He shouted a warning as the soldiers burst through.
She had just enough time to launch the sheathed sword toward Lugh before
they were upon her, the three men driving her back along the room. But she
drew her other weapon and their advance was stopped by her furious
counterattack.
Lugh, meanwhile, had leaped to his feet and caught the thrown Answerer's
hilt in both hands. Sital Salmhor, coming through the doorway on the heels
of his men, saw Lugh regain the weapon and rushed upon him, drawing his
own sword.
In a swift move, Lugh shook the bright blade free of its sheath, raised it
above his head, and brought the edge—hardened by the magic of Tir-na-
nog—down in a well-aimed blow against the chain linking the shackles.
The sword cut through them as if they were of wood, setting Lugh free.
Salmhor cried out in rage and launched a flat swing of his weapon at Lugh's
neck. The warrior jerked back and the blade whisked harmlessly past. He
swept the Answerer upward, its fine point just touching the tunic front of
Salmhor's uniform, tearing the material and scratching a line of blood
across his chest.
The officer staggered back. He glanced down, horrified not at his minor
wound, but at the damage to his perfect uniform. He drove in again, this
time with a precise flurry of blows calculated to beat down his opponents
guard. As a swordsman, Lugh found him well-disciplined and fast. But his
methodical style of fighting proved his weakness. Lugh quickly saw where
235
each blow would come from and began easily to counter them. He drove
Salmhor back across the room with a flamboyant series of parries and
thrusts that threw a sudden fear into the officer.
Lugh began to regret that he would have to kill the man. To humiliate him
would be much more satisfying. Then he saw his chance. He backed
Salmhor against the tiers of barrels along the wall and, swinging a high
blow that made the man duck down, he deftly cut through the ropes holding
the cargo in place.
The whole wall toppled forward, the avalanche of barrels catching Salmor
beneath and bearing him to the floor, stunned and pinned by the weight.
Several barrels, Lugh noted with pleasure, had been filled with food
supplies, and various types of liquid were now oozing out to cover the man
and his neat grey uniform.
"How sad," said Lugh, turning away to aid Morrigan.
He saw at once that she needed none. Two of the Fomor were already down,
and she was in the act of finishing the third. One sword pushed up the man's
long pike, the other dove in beneath, slipping through his rib cage.
She joined Lugh and they rushed to the door expecting other soldiers. But
the corridor was empty.
"What now?" he whispered.
"We get over the side into the sea," she told him. "Hurry!"
They moved along the corridor to the stairs and crept upward, weapons
ready.
Crouching at the top, they peered out on deck. Beyond and high above the
square structure where the helmsman worked, Balor's barrel head was
visible, swivel-ing constantly from side to side, the slit of red eye ready to
flash its beam. The rest of the Fomor were at their positions along the
bulwarks.
Morrigan pointed to a section of the nearby rail that held no soldiers.
"We must go over there," she whispered. "Don't be stopped by anything."
He nodded. Together they leaped from the stairwell and ran for the rail.
None of the Fomor took note of them until they reached it. Lugh knew that
they were safe. No one could stop them from vaulting the rail now. He
grabbed its upper rung, prepared to
236
leap over, then paused. Morrigan, beside him, had ceased to move.
He looked at her. She was frozen, her hands gripping the rail tightly, her
body stiff, her gaze fixed on the water gushing past below. He saw
something showing in her face that he had never seen before—stark fear!
He realized that for some reason she was unable to jump into the sea.
The Fomor were now beginning tojnove toward them, brandishing their
pikes and spears, The crossbows were coming up.
"We've got to jump, Morrigan!" he pleaded.
No response.
He knew he had to take her over the side, but there was no time. The Fomor
were nearly upon them.
A huge form with outspread wings swooped down from the fog above the
ship upon the advancing soldiers. Its clawed feet raked across the first ones,
driving them back into their fellows. As this unexpected savior wheeled up
and around to dive back, Lugh recognized a familiar shape. It was the
Pooka.
"Get over!" it cried to him as it swept in again. "I'll keep them off."
Lugh obeyed. He pried Morrigan's strong grip from the rail, threw an arm
about her bony waist.
The bird swooped down upon the Fomor, forcing them to duck. But now
Balors attention had been drawn to the events upon his own deck. His
massive head swiveled back, and, as the bird turned and shot up before his
eye, the ruby light flashed out.
The beam seemed to blast right through the Pooka, crumpling it into a
bundle of feathers and knocking it aside. It plunged downward, crashing
into the sea.
Lugh had no time to mourn his friend's loss. As the Fomor charged in, he
dove forward, taking Morrigan across the raii with him.
XXVII REUNION
MANANNAN SAW LUGH and Morrigan go over the ship's side and drop
into the sea.
He also saw Balors head swinging around to bring the crimson eye to bear
on them.
Now was his time to act, and to act quickly. He raised his arms and called
upon his powers to strike.
The sea's answer came at once.
From the softly eddying fog a gale rose with a great roar, lifting up from the
sea like some monster rising from the depths. It blasted through the
greyness, spinning back the ciouds in swirling columns on either side. The
sea creatures swarming about heard it come and vanished in an instant from
its path as the towering force slammed itself against the Fomor ship.
The vessel was caught broadside, unprepared. It heeled far over under the
staggering blow, catapulting many of its startled crew far out into the
waves.
Its slender mast and sails were torn savagely away and cast overboard,
where they trailed by the tangled rigging. The swift tilting of the stricken
ship caught Balor by surprise as well. His massive upper body was jerked to
one side. His arm and shoulder crashed into the sea. The side of the ship
was driven underwater, held there by the dragging anchor of his
overbalanced weight, and water poured in.
Balor thrashed out with his free arm, trying to throw himself back upright.
Though taken off guard, he was still not beaten. He meant to use every
means left him to survive.
"Cut loose the mast!" he bellowed through the shrieking winds.

"Helmsman, turn the bow into this! Turn the bow!"
The Fomor struggled to obey. Men clambered along the tilted deck to reach
the dragging wreckage and began to hack at the lines with their weapons.
The helmsman, thrown from the little wheelroom by the first blow of the
gale, pulled him-237
238
self back to the controls. With desperate efforts he tried to throw the rudder
over and bring the foundering ship about.
Manannan watched these desperate measures, watched the men thrashing

wildly in the sea, and there was no pity in him. He remembered only what
these cruel beings had so casually done to his innocent people and his bright
Sidhe. He was not going to let them escape his revenge now,
He lifted his arms and shouted his command to the savage winds: "Strike
them with your fury! Throw your full wrath upon them. Destroy that ship!"
And, with redoubled force, the gale threw itself again against the vessel.
The sleek craft, seeming so vast and powerful before, was now no more
than a bit of leaf, caught in a fall breeze and whisked away across the
waves. The frantic attempts of its crew to right it were useless against such
a punishing blast.
Manannan s last view was of a battered, mastless vessel, listing ever more
badly from shipped water and the dragging weight of Balor. He was now
heeled over so far that his entire side and one arm trailed in the water, while
the other arm still flailed as he struggled vainly to throw himself back.
Then the swirling banks of fog swallowed up the scene. Balor and his ship
were gone, and with their disappearance, the wind died too.
Manannan regretted that he couldn't follow after and watch the monster's
final descent into the depths, but he had another matter more pressing at the
moment. He urged the team quickly toward the place where Lugh and
Morrigan struggled in the water.
They were not having an easy time of it. Morrigan's dread fear of the sea
had turned her to a statue, a sinking deadweight that Lugh was desperately
trying to buoy while he stayed afloat himself. But the Answerer was
hanging from his waist, and the heavy shackles were still about his ankles,
and their combined weight was trying very hard to pull him down.
He saw the chariot rushing through the waves toward them, but it was still
so far away. Could he keep both of them from going under until it arrived?
The waves were already washing against his face, filling his mouth and
nose with their harshness, nearly gagging him.
Then something pushed up under him. Something large and BATTLE FOR
THE SIDHE
239
hard and smooth. He remembered the sea creatures. Had they come back?
The thing rose, lifting him higher, allowing him to keep his own head and
Morrigans above the surface. But something else came above the surface
too—a large and sharp-edged fin. A shark of enormous size was beneath
them.
Lugh considered panicking, but there was little he could do. He sat still,
holding the raven-woman tightly, riding the creatures back, hoping
Manannan would reach them before it decided to do anything irreparable.
The huge fish lay placidly beneath them as the chariot pulled beside them.
Manannan leaned over the side and Lugh passed Morrigan to him.
"Quickly," he said. "There's a shark right under me."
The tall man looked down and glimpsed the sleek, giant shape beneath the
waves. He hurried to haul Morrigan safely inside, then grabbed Lugh's
hands and helped him aboard.
But as soon as they were off the shark moved, turning swiftly toward them
and lifting from the water to reveal its wide, flat head and open jaws.
"It's coming for us," Lugh said, gripping his sword hilt.
"I nearly drowned myself there, holding you two up," it said affably in a
familiar voice. "Did you know sharks have to keep swimming to breathe?"
"Shaglan!" Lugh cried in astonishment. "I thought that you were dead!"
"just scorched a bit. Balor's eye really missed me."
"We'll discuss it later," Manannan advised, peering around into the fog.
"Some real sea creatures may return to visit soon. And few of them are
friendly, even to me."
So he turned the chariot back toward the isle and urged the team to a gallop.
Shaglan, reveling in the speed of his new form, swam merrily about them
on their way, insuring that nothing else would dare to do them harm.
"It would seem to me that you might owe this Pooka your life," Manannan
commented in a casual way, looking at Morrigan.
They and the rest of their finally reunited band were back in the Sidhe now,
seated around a large and cheering fire upon the central mound. Manannan's
people, their normal bright
240
spirits restored to them, hovered about, giving the heroes food and tending
to various minor wounds. The Dagda constantly shooed them away, finding
their attentions an irritant. Angus and Lugh seemed to find them a delight.
The young champion and Morrigan were bundled in heavy blankets, and
huddled close to the flames. The hardy Lugh was already recovered from
his soaking, but the raven-woman still shivered.
Even so, she was alert, fixing Manannan with a sharp eye as he spoke, and
nodding in agreement with his words.
"I distrusted the Pooka. I was wrong," she rasped out. She looked toward it
where it sat beside the fire, returned now to a large doglike form that Aine
liked. "I will repay you."
"just be my friend," it told her hopefully. "All I ask is to be a part of the de

Danann race again, to talk to human beings, to be welcomed by them."
"You will be," the Dagda said heartily, "that I promise you. So far as we are
concerned, you have redeemed yourself for the traitorous act of your family.
You, at least, will no longer be cast out by our people."
The being smiled happily at this, and Lugh smiled with it, glad it had
fulfilled part of its desires.
"He's a worthy addition to our little band," Manannan pronounced with

enthusiasm. "Lugh, I'm glad you brought him with you."
"You should be thanking Danu that we came here at all!" Aine said with
some irritation. "You know, the Fomor nearly killed Lugh in Eire. If they
had, what would have happened to you then, my clever brother?"
"Ah, I knew you'd come," he said lightly, grinning. "I never had any doubt."
"Never any doubt?" she said in disbelief. "You should have been out there
in the Burren with us. There would have been plenty of doubt then!"
"I had complete confidence in you," he told her. "Why do you think I kept
you behind at Tara?"
"You told me why!" She glanced at Lugh. "You said that I ... that we . . ."
He waved that away. "I only said that to make you stay. I needed someone
held in reserve in case things did go wrong. I knew that if something
happened to Lugh, you'd rush to help him or carry on for him. The Riders
were ordered to return to

241
you in such events. Well, I couldn't tell you that, could I? If you'd thought
Lugh was in danger, you'd have insisted on going along with him. So I used
the easiest means I could to separate you. It worked out quite well. Just as I
planned."
"Why - . . you . . . hound!" she said, each word an explosion of rage. "You
took advantage of my feelings for Lugh to make me do your will. You
couldn't trust me to see the sense of it myself. Lugh is right. You are a
manipulator, and a treacherous one. From now on, I'll do exactly as I
please."
With that, she got up and moved to Lugh. She knelt by him, grabbed his
face in both hands, pulled the astonished young man toward her, and
planted squarely on his lips a long, hard, and very ardent kiss, to the vast
interest and amusement of the others.
When she finally pulled away, it was to enthusiastic cheers from Findgoll,
the Dagda, Shaglan, and her own brother.
"Fine work, Aine," he congratulated, not the least contrite.
"Its certainly warmed me up!" Lugh remarked, recovering from his surprise
to smile at her.
"Me as well," Angus said with feeling.
From across the Sidhe there came a faint rumbling sound, and the gathering
upon the mound turned toward it. From the distant trees a cart had emerged,
pulled by scores of the inhabitants and carrying a large, dark object.
"Ah, they've brought the cauldron back," Manannan announced with

satisfaction.
"Good. Now we can prepare to get on our way."
"Do you think the Fomor will try to stop us going back?" asked Lugh.
"Maybe," the guardian answered. "But their ships can't stop me, and we'll
choose a different route to Tara. One they'll hopefully not know." He grew
thoughtful. "I will admit, though, that I'd feel better if I knew how they'd
anticipated our moves."
A memory returned to Lugh at that.
'Balor said that he was helped. He mentioned a name that seemed familiar."
He looked at the Pooka. "Shaglan, was it you that mentioned someone
called Mathgen?"
'Mathgen!" the Dagda cried. "It can't be. I saw him die myself!"
'Do you think somehow that evil Druid could be alive and helping the
Fomor?"
Findgoll asked Manannan anxiously.
242
"I had heard a tale that Balor had a Druid in the Tower," the tall man
answered. "I thought it was one he had captured. But knowing it's Mathgen
explains how he learned of the Prophecy, how he found where Lugh was
hidden, and why he decided to visit my isle."
"Mathgen," said Findgoll. "That's a name I hoped never to hear again. If it's
true that he somehow has survived, then there is a power against us more
deadly than Balor himself!"
Images flickered upon the screen in a confused montage: A stricken black

ship being whirled away by the winds, a young man rescued by a water-
borne chariot, a rejoicing group of people on the shore of a green isle.
"Balor has failed," the hoarse voice forced out.
The images faded and a picture of two people reappeared. Two Fomor
officers stood before the creature suspended in its web of life, looking at the
wasted mummy's face and the blinded eyes that, somehow, saw so much.
"What must be done?" one of the officers asked. "They will bring the
cauldron back to Eire."
"That may not matter now," Mathgen's hideous, echoing whisper replied.
"Our delaying them may have already sealed their doom. Bres has begun
his march. He should reach Tara long before they can return. With the force
he has gathered, he should easily be able to destroy them all. When Lugh
and his companions finally reach their 'beautiful ridge,' they will find
nothing left of the de Danann race." The lipless mouth stretched to a ghastly
smile. "That will be a greater punishment for my old friends than their own
deaths."
"And what of our commander?" another of the Fomor wondered. "Can your
powers tell us if he has been destroyed?"
In answer, the image projected by the Druids mind shifted again, this time
steadying upon a view of the sea and of a towering wall of fog cutting
abruptly across it, shutting all beyond it from sight.
But as the officers watched this scene intently, something appeared. A dark
object showed deep within the swirling clouds, growing as it moved toward
them until it finally slipped free of the cloaking white. It crawled across the
waves with an agonizing slowness, like a badly wounded creature
struggling to reach the safety of its den. As it grew larger, it resolved itself
into a ship, once sleek and powerful, now battered, mastless, BATTLE FOB
THE SIDHE
243
and listing heavily. Still, it was afloat and managing to propel itself
haltingly with whatever forces were still functioning within it.
On its sharply canted stern, a giant figure was visible, its body bent to one
side like something broken, a massive arm trailing in the sea. The being was
motionless, seemingly lifeless. Yet, as the image of it drew clearer, the
officers saw the great lid of metal hanging before its single eye shudder.
There was a hesitation, as if all energy were being concentrated in this
single act, and then it lifted.
Behind the slit that opened, the blaze of an immense and undiminished
energy flared angrily.
______BOOK IV______
THE FOMOR STRIKE
xxvm
BRES MARCHES
THE FACE THAT rose into view above the hill was more like that of a
mole than a man, with tiny ears and mouth and a pointed, wet, quivering
snout above which close-set little eyes glinted sharply- The body of this
thing was stocky, nearly shoulderless, draped in the ragged Fomor dress,
and heavily armed with sword, ax, and iron shield.
It paused on the rim of the hill to gaze carefully across the meadows ahead.
Then, satisfied the way was clear, it advanced, making way for others
moving up behind.
For an immense swarm of Fomor were marching south through the hills.
Their host had turned the fine, peaceful countryside into a nightmare land,
peopled with creatures such as those which haunt the most hidden, midnight
landscapes of man's mind. Never before had Eire witnessed so vast a
gathering of the hideous beings.
At their head, Bres himself rode arrogantly, confident that this army, this
tidal wave of brutal force would finally sweep the de Dananns from
existence and flush their hated blood from his veins,
One day more would see it done. One day. He smiled as he envisioned his
triumphal return to Tara's hall. By tomorrow night Eire would be his once
again.
"They were to have returned here days ago!" Bobd Derg pointed out
emphatically. "Now, I demand that you let me address the rest of our
people!
They have a right to know the entire truth!"
High-King Nuada kept up his brisk walk across the fortress yard, forcing
the bard to run along beside him. Every day the man had accosted him with
this same demand, growing more strident as the days passed and the
champions failed to return.
247
248
Nuada was tired of the constant argument. Now he tried to ignore Bobd
Derg entirely.
But the bard would not be denied. He stepped before his High-King, forcing
him to stop. He thrust his lean white face, the cheeks flaring red with his
zealous fire, close to Nuada's. The fine, soft, bardic voice was urgent, each
word cast separately at Nuada like a hard-thrown spear.
"You cannot pretend I do not exist. You know now that I am right! You
know that you have called these people here to their slaughter. You've
brought them here to die!"
"Brought them here?" Nuada answered, enraged. "Come with me!"
He seized the elbow of the slender bard and, without ceremony, walked him
along to the fortress gates. Outside they stopped. Nuada lifted an arm and
gestured around him.
"Look at them!" he told the younger man with force.
All about the fortress hill were the gathered de Dananns. Their temporary
shelters—tents and crude huts—filled the slopes below the walls. From all
over Eire they had come at Lugh's summons. Worn, hungry, battered, most
without weapons, they had still come.
"Nearly our whole race is gathered here," Nuada said. "I did not bring them.
They were not tricked into coming. They were asked to join the rising and
they came by their own choice!"
"By their choice, was it?" Bobd Derg replied sardonically. "And I suppose
they would so willingly have come if they had known they would face the
combined might of every Fomor warrior in Eire without their promised
mystical help!"
"I think they would," Nuada said firmly.
"Then you are living in some dream of your own," the bard retorted. "Look
at their condition. They're not mad. They know they are weak, starving,
untrained. Few are warriors and most never wished to be. They know that
without help they cannot win. Only a promise that their strength would
miraculously be restored has convinced them to come."
"You have no faith in your own people's courage, Bobd Derg," the High-
King said. "You never believed they would have the courage to rise at all.
You were wrong. You are wrong
now.
"If what you're saying is true, then there is no reason why they should not
know what they will face."
"We made a bond with Lugh," Nuada reminded him THE FOMOR
STRIKE
249
sharply. "We wait until Bres marches against us. If the cauldron has not
arrived by then, you are free to reveal the situation to our people. You may
ask them then if they choose to give up the fight and abandon Eire. But
there is no reason to place this problem before them until we've no other
choice."
"You know now, in your heart, that there is no other choice," the bard told
him with a savage intensity, his body trembling with an energy that the
gaunt frame barely contained. "You know that the cauldron and Lugh and
all the rest will not return."
With that, he spun on his heel and stalked away with a quick, nervous
stride, moving down into the close-clustered dwellings of the de Danann
clans.
Nuada watched him go with deep misgivings. He knew that the

troublemaking bard would now go amongst the people and preach his doom
to them. He would spread fear, plead for them to abandon Tara, to leave
Eire with him and seek the haven of Tir-na-nog once again.
The High-King onjy wished he felt more confidence than he had expressed.
As he looked out on the fields where the de Danann warriors practiced, he
had to admit to himself that without the restorative powers of the cauldron,
his people would have little chance of withstanding an all-out onslaught of
Fomor.
Certainly they had all been rearmed by the skills of Goibnu, Cerdne, and
Bridget, along with many other smiths. And those weapons were fine, keen-
edged, deadly. But that didn't make the hands that wielded them any less
infirm. For the past days these thousands of de Dananns bad trained hard,
trying desperately to regain some of the warrior skills. The few veterans
amongst his household companies had served as teachers for some young
men who had never fought, who had been oppressed and afraid all of their
lives.
Some semblance of an army had been achieved. Some vague spirit for
battle had been rekindled, but like an insect trapped and devoured by a
spider, it was only the outer shell. The meat, the blood, the real life, had all
been long since sucked away by the Fomor.
He felt a shell himself, shaky and old. He needed a drink to steady him, he
thought. But he pushed the thought away with irritation. He couldn't escape
that way. He had tried once. Then he had fought his way from drunken
despair and retaken
250
his throne as High-King. He had vowed to lead his people to freedom as he

should have long before.
He went to work at once, using the activity to keep back the new sense of
hopelessness that, like Bobd Derg, had begun to pag at him. He moved
amongst the various groups of men, encouraging their work, instructing,
demonstrating his own skills to them. He wondered, as he watched the
spear throwers at practice, if they were ever going to improve enough to hit
a human target in battle.
Toward noon, a movement on the northern hills caught his eye. He stopped
in his labors to stare off toward the road that ran from them across the
meadows to Tara. A horseman was moving along it at a breakneck pace.
Something in the urgency of the man's ride gave him a foreboding of bad
news.
Guessing that this rider was heading for the fortress's main gates, he moved
toward them to intercept the man.
His guess was right. The rider came through the encampment without
slowing his pace, pushing upward toward the gates. As he approached,
Nuada recognized him as one of their best scouts. He raised a staying hand
and the man saw him, reining in the worn, lathered horse, tumbling from its
back to face his king.
The message came from him in broken, breathless sentences. It was what
Nuada had been expecting, and fearing, for the last few days.
"My King, Bres is on the march now! There are thousands of Fomor,
flooding down through the valleys from the north."
"How long until they reach us?" Nuada asked, keeping all emotion from his
voice.
"They are a day behind me, maybe more. By tomorrow they will be here."
"So, Nuada, you can delay no longer," said another voice.
The High-King turned to find Bobd Derg close behind him. The bard had
also seen the messenger ride in and had hurried to hear the news.
"Now you have no more excuses not to tell our people the truth," he went
on with an air of triumph. "You will see then what they choose to do."
"They will stay and they will fight, no matter what," Nuada told him with
barely contained anger.
THE FOMOR STRIKE
251
"Then they will die," the other countered. "You know they will. It will be a
slaughter. Our race—all of our people—will be destroyed. And if you do
not tell them to escape now, it is you who will be the cause of every death!"
Crowds of de Dananns moved upward from their camps around the hill,
pushing through the gateway, filling up the compound within the timber
walls. The sounds of their excited talk, their questioning and guessing about
the reasons for this call to meet, rose to a constant, uneven hum.
It penetrated to the upper gallery room of the great hall, where Nuada stood
alone staring down at one of Cilia's charts spread out on a plank table. He
stared down at the points the messenger had indicated as the last position of
Bres's army. But it wasn't the markings on the map he saw, it was the hoard
of monstrous beings he knew would soon drop down upon them like a war-
ax.
In a gesture of anger, he slammed his fist upon the map, as if he could
somehow crush those attacking warriors.
"What is it, Nuada?" someone asked.
The High-King looked around as Diancecht, chief physician to the de

Dananns, climbed the last stairs to the upper room.
He was a tall man with a dignified bearing. One of the oldest of his people,
age had touched him lightly, slightly stooping the shoulders, greying the
thick, curling brows and hair, deepening the creases in his lean face.
"What are you doing here?" Nuada asked him irritably. He was in no mood
to see anyone just now.
The austere man frowned and answered gruffly: "I only came to see if you
were well. You've had very little rest these past days."
Nuada dropped down heavily on his bench, his voice contrite.
"I'm sorry, my old friend. I am weary, I suppose. Very weary." He propped

his elbows on the tabletop and rested his forehead against his cupped hands.
His body sagged.
'Something is wrong," Diancecht said, the gruff manner softening at once as

he recognized his old comrade's real distress. "What's the matter with you?
It's not the drink again, is it?"
Its not those spirits haunting me," the man replied. "It's 252
THE FOMOR STRIKE
253
the specter of my own past failures. Bobd Derg's talk has shaken me. What
if he's right? What if our friends never return? Will I be condemning my
people to death if I don't tell them to abandon the fight, to leave Eire?"
"Nonsense," the other said forcefully, moving to the table. "Don't you be
letting that enchanting bardic force of his work on you. You know what we
have to do. Where's your old will?"
Nuada shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe it was only Lugh and the
Dagda pushing me to act. Maybe my own will was lost long ago when I lost
my kingship and my hand."
Diancecht leaned his long form across the table and gripped Nuada's hand,
pulling it up.
"You see that hand?" he asked hotly. "My work gave it back to you. There's
no sign of the joining, no sign it was ever gone. You are a whole man now.
A whole man! Both in body and in spirit." He released the hand and looked
Nuada fiercely in the eye as he went on. "Listen to me! You don't need
Lugh or the Dagda to give you courage. Use your own, manl Have
confidence in yourself!
Danu does."
Nuada's expression grew puzzled at this remark.
"What do you mean?"
"Why, it's obvious!" the old physician said, beginning to pace restlessly
across the gallery. "I've been sure of it since Lugh appeared amongst us to
help. If it was Danu who sent him to us, and through him the Lia Fail, then
she meant to see us rise against the Fomor and take Eire. And, she meant
for you to lead us. Don't you see? Bobd Derg is wrong to think she wants us
to fail here and return meekly to her. She knows we have to prove
ourselves."
"And if we lose?"
Diancecht stopped pacing and wheeled toward his friend. "Then we die," he
said flatly. "And that's a gamble we've faced all of our lives. It's what real
living's about. What value would we have for ourselves if we've nothing
we're willing to give up our lives for? Danu knew that. She knew we'd
never be content until we'd redeemed ourselves."
"But I can't ask the others to sacrifice their lives. I can't make that decision
for them.'
"You don't have to," the other said. "They'll make it for themselves if you
let them. The need for it is part of them. You'll see."
"You are a greater madman than my own father, Diancecht," Bobd Derg
said harshly as he entered the upper room.
The two men turned from the window to face him. He stood stiffly, his eyes
bright with the fevered energy that fueled his wretched frame.
"I'd hoped that with him gone—along with the rest of your champions—
there might be some chance for sanity. I forgot that I'd stili have to contend
with you, old healer."
"Pray to Danu that you'll not need any healing from me," the tall man
answered in chill tones.
Bobd Derg ignored that, looking at the king. "The people are all here now
It's time for us to speak to them. Then this madness will be forever ended."
He strode past them and pushed open the door onto the walkway that linked
the upper floor to the outer parapet. He moved out onto it, Nuada close
behind, stopping to look down on the crowd jamming the courtyard.
"Children of Danu!' he called, the trained bard's voice ringing out clearly
over the crowd, silencing all talk. Hundreds of laces turned upward toward
him. "You have been called here to be told the full truth of our situation.
Then you may freely decide what you will do."
There were many bewildered glances exchanged at that. What truth was it
they were to hear?
"You have all gathered to face a great Fomor army led by Bres," he went
on.
"We have just learned that this army is now on its way. It is thousands
strong and it will arrive at Tkra by tomorrow!"
This news raised an uproar amongst the gathered de Dananns.
Bobd Derg raised his arms to silence it.
"I know what grave concerns this raises. Though most of our own people
have arrived, we are very weak and very ill prepared. We have neither the
warrior's skills nor the strength to fight."
But, the cauldron!" a man shouted from below. "It was to give us back our
strength!"
"The cauldron was to have been here days ago!" the bard replied. "It will
not come. You will have no magic to help you in this fight."
"What about Lugh!" called another. "The Prophecy has said he will lead us
in destroying the Fomor power!"
254
"The Prophecy is false!" Bobd Derg shouted. "Lugh Lam-fada has likely
been destroyed by the Fomor power, along with Morrigan, Findgoil, Angus
Og, and my father, the Dagda! They knew that without the cauldron you
would have no chance against the Fomor. They took on a dangerous quest
to bring it here in time to save you. But they foiled! Now you must save
yourselves."
"Save ourselves?" shouted the warrior cheiftain called Niet. "You mean,
leave Eire? Return to Tir-na-nog?"
"We have no other choice," he said. The full force of his bardic powers
were unleashed now, possessing the slender body totally. The voice carried
across them, filled with gripping emotions, pleading, cajoling, threatening,
all at once. "We were never meant for life here. Our years in Eire must have
shown you ail that. We are people of peace, lovers of the pleasures of life, at
one with those of Tir-na-nog. Why die here needlessly when Danu
welcomes us and wants us to return to her?" He looked around at Nuada
who watched him stonily.
"Even your High-King knows I am right. He knows that the de Dananns

have no other choice."
There were murmurings from the gathered people. Bobd Derg had managed
to raise doubts and fears in them.
"Nuada, is that true?" someone called up. "Do you think we should leave?"
"Yes!" cried another. "Nuada, please! What shall we do?"
Other voices joined them, pleading for the High-King to speak out.
He looked down at them, torn by his own doubts. He looked around toward
Diancecht who watched him solemnly.
"From your heart," the old man said. "Tell them your heart."
Nuada swept his gaze back across the throng whose fate now depended on
his words. If he supported Bobd Derg, they would go. If not, they might be
destroyed.
His eyes went to the little mound across the yard where sat the small, plain,
rounded stone called the Lia Fail—the Stone of Truth. It had proclaimed
him king and made the uprising a reality. Now it was revealing another
truth to him. He understood suddenly, unquestionably, that Diancecht was
right about Danu. She had never meant for them to give up their fight for
Eire. She had let them return here willingly, knowing
THE FOMOR STRIKE
255
what they must do to be once more their own. The Lia Fail was a sign of
that, of her approval for their choice finally to act.
With a renewed sense of assurance, he moved forward to the rail of the

walkway to address the crowd.
"My people, listen!" he said in a booming voice, untrained in the bardic arts
of moving men, but filled with a kingly force of its own. "I will tell you no
lies. There is an army of Fomor coming here, and those who went to fetch
the cauldron have not returned.
"It may be that our comrades are dead," he said. "If they are not, they still
may not return in time to aid us. Without that aid, we will face an army
much stronger than our own. And if we are defeated, Bres will surely see all
of us—children, aged, wounded, it won't matter—put to death. He intends
to see our race cease to exist."
This raised a new uproar in the gathering. His words were a wave of chill
water washing across them. They were even more frightening than those of
Bobd Derg, and the bard smiled with satisfaction. It appeared the old king
was finally accepting the end of his foolish dream.
Nuada raised his hands for silence, then went on, his voice taking on a new,
more vigorous tone.
"But Eire is your land, and I will never tell you to abandon it. That choice
must be yours."
Bobd Derg's smile vanished. He now gaped in dismay.
"So, tell me now," the High-King demanded. "Will you leave Eire or will
you stay and fight?"
"I say we fight!" cried Febal, lifting his new-made spear above his head.
His cry-was quickly taken up by others, running through the crowd,

building quickly to a roar of acclamation as weapons were brandished high,
creating a sea of glinting weapons within the fortress walls.
"No! No!" Bobd Derg called out desperately. "It means our deaths!"
"Then we will die on our own land!" shouted back a young harper who had
gripped his first sword only two days before. Now his thin, pale face was
flushed with a battle fire passed to him by warrior ancestors he had never
known.
XXIX
LAST CHANCE
THE LITTLE BOAT sat empty on the shore of eastern Eire. Nearby a curio
us-loo king company busied themselves about a massive cart.
"That ought to hold the thing," the Dagda declared with satisfaction, pulling
taut a final knot. He stepped back to admire his handiwork.
Atop the cart the huge iron cauldron sat, covered with a heavy lid. Several
cables passed over it and down to fastenings along the vehicle sides,
securing the precious cargo in place.
"It's going to be a hard thing to move," Aine said, examining the load
critically.
"We can move it," Lugh assured her. "Especially with the Pooka's help."
The animal had transformed itself into a brawny oxlike animal, and was
allowing Angus to harness it to the cart. Any suspicions the de Dananns still
had of it had finally been assuaged by its helpfulness and amiability. Now
they talked and joked with it as if it had always been part of their company.
"How long will it be to return to Tara?" the Dagda asked Manannan.
The tall man, still in the clown's ragged dress, was poring over the chart of
Eire carefully.
"I'd judge three days by the smoothest route," he said. "We'll not be able to
go so directly as when we came."
"Three days," said Lugh, frustrated. "And if we had the Riders to help us,
we could be there in less than one."
"We've tried three times now to summon them," Manannan reminded him.
"I'm afraid that power of Balor's did them great harm. They may have been
destroyed completely this time."
"But it's going to make us very late returning," Lugh said.
256
THE FOMOR STRIKE
257
"They're likely thinking by now that we won't come. We've got to let them
know we're on our way."
"Aye, lad," the Dagda agreed. "Nuada can send some help to meet us. We'll
be growing weary of this soon. None of us is the freshest now, and even the
Pooka and I can't pull forever. We'll need teams to take the load for us if
we're to keep up our speed.
"We may need warriors to help us too," Angus put in. "The Fomor may still
be looking to stop us."
They were all aware of that possibility. Though none of the black Tower
ships had tried to capture them on the return voyage, more of the Fomor
traps might lie ahead.
"We'll ask Morrigan to fly to Tara for us when she returns from scouting,
then," Manannan said. "We'll just have to look out for ourselves until she
brings some help."
"Now for us," the Dagda said briskly. "Take a hand, everyone. Let's get this
bloody great lump moving along." He went to the harness beside the Pooka
and strapped himself into it. Findgoll, who argued that he was fully capable
of helping, was ordered by the others to ride instead. Lugh, Angus, and
Aine took up ropes attached to the cart to aid their larger comrades in the
heavy going.
There was a rope for Manannan as well, but he didn't take it up at once. He
was busy adjusting something about his head.
"There!" he exclaimed at last, looking toward them with a wide and

thoroughly inane smile. "What do you think?"
The straggling hair and beard of Gilla Decaire now masked the Sea-God's
silver locks and pleasant face. Once again Manannan had become the
clown.
"Is that really necessary?" the Dagda asked impatiently.
"I don't mean to be treated like some special being when I'm in Eire," he
answered firmly. "I've no power, after all. Less than you, Dagda. This way
I'm just a man, and one not to be taken too seriously. If you're my friends,
you'll keep my secret as long as I ask. Will you?"
The Dagda shook his head, more certain than ever that the lanky figure was
a bit mad. Still, he agreed. So did the others, quite readily. They liked
Manannan well enough, but they felt a great deal more comfortable with the
clown and were glad to have him back with them.
That decided, they all fell to the ropes. It took a great first effort to budge
the heavy cart, but finally the thing began to 258
THE FOMOR STRIKE
259
move and rolled ahead quite smoothly, picking up speed under the powerful
urgings of the Dagda and Shaglan. The others were soon able to drop their
ropes and trot alongside, ready to help again if a steep spot were reached.
As they moved away from the sea and headed inland, the same concern
filled everyone's thoughts. Would they be in time to help?
The fear that they would not kept them moving forward at their best
possible speed.
But they had not traveled far from the coast when a familiar black form
appeared in the sky ahead. It approached rapidly, and seeing them below,
spiraled down to land.
The little company stopped and watched as the great raven settled to the
earth before them and shimmered its way into the Morrigan's tall figure.
It was obvious at their first sight of her that something of alarming

proportions had happened, for her normally impassive face registered
dismay.
"Morrigan, what is it?" Lugh asked. "What's happened?"
"It's Bres," she cawed. "His Fomor are on the march. I made a sweep to the
north and saw them."
"How far from Tara?" the Dagda asked.
"A day, perhaps," she told him.
Stunned by this news, Lugh dropped down wearily on the edge of the cart.
"A day," he said, and looked up at the cauldron. "After all this, we're not
going to get it back in time?"
"Isn't there any way?" Angus said to Manannan. "If we got help. If Tara
sent men—"
"Bres will be upon Tara long before any help from there could reach us,"
the tall man said. "No, I'm afraid that nothing they can do will get this little
pot there any faster."
"And you say it will take us three days to get there on our own," Findgoll
said, shaking his head.
"Two, perhaps, at our best speed, moving day and night," Manannan
amended.
"That's with a wind behind us, of course."
"Too late," said the Dagda, plumping his massive body down next to Lugh's
and speaking with despair. "Our people may all be dead by then."
The others sat down in attitudes of defeat. Even the Pooka dropped down
on its haunches and wilted in sorrow.
Manannan stood looking about him at this hopeless crew and spoke up
cheerfully.
"Oh, come on. There's always something that can be done! We can't all just
give up. We're so close! I mean, we got the thing back to Eire. It's just a
matter of getting it to Tara now, isn't it?"
"How?" Aine demanded bluntly. "Dear brother, I'm afraid that even you
may have run out of luck."
"Oh, are you?" he said, sounding a bit offended by her lack of faith. "Well,
my smart young puppy, that we will see." He turned briskly to the young
champion. "Lugh, it's time for you to call the Riders of the Sidhe again.
With their help we can whisk this little gift of ours to Tara by tonight."
"But you said they were likely destroyed!" Lugh reminded him.
Manannan shrugged. "I was probably wrong. In any case, it's the only
possibility we've got now, so get right to it."
"Why don't you have a try?" Lugh asked him, clearly not optimistic about
his chances. "You're the Guardian."
"And you are Champion of the Sidhe," the tall man reminded him. "The
Riders were put in your care by the Queen of the Four Cities herself, if
you'll recall. So if anyone can successfully conjure them up, it's you. And,
you might add a special little request for Danu to lend a hand in this. It
might help things along."
"He's not likely to get any extra help from Danu this time," Aine added
darkly.
"You really are the negative one," her brother told her in a scolding way.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt if you put in a word to Danu yourself" He

looked around at the others. "And that goes for the rest of you as well.
There could be a more persuasive force in numbers. And the added volume
just might reach her better too. So gather around here and let's give this
young champion of ours some support with our prayers. And, try to be
positive about it!"
His bracing, optimistic mood infected them. They shook off the clinging
shroud of defeat and moved in around the cart. Lugh stood up beside the
cauldron, lifted his eyes to the sky, and began the incantation. Around him,
the others made their own private appeals to the mystic Queen. Al) of them
knew that Lugh's success in calling the Riders now might be the only thing
saving their people from a massacre.
260
The young warrior's chant went on, the words lifting into the empty fall sky.
Far to the west there came, as if in answer, a low rumble from the thunder
of a great storm rising there. But these dark, wind-filled clouds boiling up
from the horizon brought no shining horsemen sweeping across Eire with
them. Only rain.
It was a fall rain. It had that penetrating chill and snow-sharp scent about it
that spoke of coming winter It had that forlorn quality that suits summer's
dying as well. The rain drenched and clung and fell away reluctantly in
heavy droplets, weighing down upon everything and giving trees, people,
even buildings, the drooping, sorrowful attitude of mourners at a burial.
Its thick cloak increased the blackness of the night. In the enclosure of
Tara's high timber walls, scores of torches burned in every sheltered spot in
a valiant struggle to provide those busy there with some fitful light.
Everywhere there was a constant bustle as people moved about on their

various tasks of preparation. A hospital was being set up under Diancecht's
direction inside the large armory building. Chieftains were arriving and
entering the main hall to meet the High-King for a final review of battle
plans. And parties of warriors worked continuously to move weapons from
the smithy to distribute to the companies on the hill outside the walls.
In the large smithy behind the central hall, Cerdne, Goibnu, and Bridget,
aided by scores of other craftsmen, worked under shed roofs of thatch
through which rain leaked in countless places and made a constant sizzling
sound as it dripped upon the red coals of the forges. Skilled artisans in brass
and leather and wood helped the smiths to add to a vast supply of weapons.
Iron-rimmed shields, keen-edged swords, and elegantly lethal spears were

stacked all about them.
Nuada crossed the yard to the smithy, trying with little success to dodge the
many puddles in the muddy ground. The workers there glanced up to greet
him only briefly, not pausing in their labors.
"You've done well," he told them earnestly. "We'll not lose tomorrow
because we're lacking in fine weapons."
"We'll not lose tomorrow at all," said Goibnu, a broad smile THE FOMOR
STRIKE
261
glowing whitely for an instant in his smoke-blackened face before he bent

back over his hammer.
"Bridget," Nuada called loudly over the clatter of work.
The woman whose oddly divided face had been made all one bv the coating
of soot looked up at him.
"As soon as you've finished here, Diancecht wants you at the hospital," the
king told her. "He'll be in sore need of your healing skills."
Bridget nodded agreement. The mystic healing powers she had gained in
Tir-na-nog had saved many a warrior wounded and near death. On the next
day, such a talent would be in great demand.
"Excuse me, my King," said a voice beside him.
Nuada turned to see a fresh-faced young warrior smiling up somewhat

shyly at him.
"Ruadan!" said Nuada, smiling at the son of Bridget. He noted the weapons
adorning the lad, almost too much for his light frame. "Prepared to join the
fight, too, are you?"
"Of course!" Ruadan said stoutly. "How could I not join this battle against
our greatest enemies?"
Nuada thought to himself how brave it was of such a mere stripling,

innocent and untrained in war, to face the savage Fomor. He laid a hand
upon Ruadan's shoulder.
"I'm very proud of you," he said with the proper, kingly solemnness.
Ruadan beamed with pleasure at this praise and strode away, holding
himself with a warrior's dignity. But Nuada didn't note the troubled frown
that creased the face of Bridget as she watched this touching scene.
Nuada left the smithy, returning to the central hall. The chieftains were
nearly all gathered there, going over charts spread upon the tables of the
High-King's dais. Below it, near the fire, the Druids engaged in their own
conference.
On the king's entrance, High-Druid Meglin left the others to approach him.
His expression was not a happy one.
"How does it go then, Meglin?" Nuada asked. "Have you and the Druidic
circle any bits of sorcery that might help us hold the Fomor at bay
tomorrow?"
The man was hesitant. "We may have, High-King. We've worked on some
things"—he sighed and shook his head—
but they're not very good. We've had too little time to restore 262
CHAMPIONS or THE SIDHE '
our powers. And, without Findgoll to direct what skills we have ..."
"I understand," said Nuada. "He'll be sorely missed here, as wilJ the others.
Well, do what you can."
The High-King continued on through the hall, toward the gallery steps.
There were still some moments before their meeting could begin. He used
them to climb to the gallery room and go out, across the bridge to the
parapet walk.
He stood looking off toward the east, oblivious to the rain the sharp wind
was driving against his back. He strained his eyes into the blackness there,
still hoping he would see some sign of help, still praying his champions
would miraculously appear through the curtain of rain and night.
He saw only the void of the empty countryside and, beyond the farthest
ridge of eastern hills, the flicker of distant lightning.
XXX
ASSAULT ON TARA
BY DAWN, THE rain had ceased, the sky had cleared. A bright sun
climbed above the eastern hills and threw a golden, all-revealing light
across the plains encircling Tara's hill.
It also lit the Fomor hordes flooding over the northern ridges toward the
fortress.
They poured down into the meadows of yellowing fall grass. The horrible
seething mass of them was so thick they seemed like swarming maggots on
a rotting carcass turned suddenly to the light. From a hilltop Bres watched
them move forward with great satisfaction. They were truly a nightmare
army, a force of undisciplined, deformed, and brutal creatures. As such he
felt revulsion for them. Still, it was those very aspects of their natures that
were so valuable to him. They would easily cow the weak and fearful de
Dananns they had so long tyrannized, They would be his weapons for the
retaking of his Eire.
Now the prize was just ahead of them. He turned his gaze toward it and
smiled covetously.
THE FOMOR STRIKE
263
Tara an Rie. The sacred place of High-Kings. Soon that fortress would be
his again. It sat there, waiting, a crown to be torn from the brow of the
cursed de Dananns.
He rode on, moving down into the van of his force. He meant to lead the
final assault personally. He more than half-expected to find no resistance at
the fortress. He had no belief in the de Dananns' courage. Quite likely they
had fled before him once they realized their "heroes" would perform no
more miracles to save them.
In that he was surprised.
As they drew nearer to the hill, he realized that it had been fully fortified.
A ditch had been dug around the base of the hill, below the fortress's
palisades. Atop a mound of earth piled along the inner edge of this ditch, a
second wall had been erected. It was formed of stakes embedded in the
earth at intervals, supporting heavy screens of wickerwork. Behind this
lower defensive line, he could see the de Dananns swarming as they moved
to their positions.
From what he could see of their numbers, they seemed far fewer than his.
And glimpses of the de Danann warriors peeping over the wall told him that
they were still pitifully weak, quite frail in comparison with his burly
animals.
He almost laughed aloud at the thought of how absurd their puny resistance
would be.
Yet, he did recall that unexpected spirit that had once before brought the
starved inhabitants of Tara to rise against him and drive him out,
annihilating the Fomor garrison. No, he wouldn't laugh at these people now.
As pitiful as they looked, as much as he had already done to strip them of
their dignity, possessions, and strength, he would give them no quarter.
They were fools, he thought angrily. Had they run from him, he might yet
have shown compassion for them, let them leave Eire alive. Now their
stubborn pride had insured that he would see them wiped utterly away. The
de Danann spirit would finally be exorcised from him.
He addressed himself to the Fomor officers. He gave his orders only

through those of the highest rank.
Spread your companies out and come against the entire line at once!" he
commanded. "Keep the best company in reserve. When a hole has been
made, I will lead them through. And let no man harm Nuada Silver-Hand.
The pleasure of killing him is reserved for me!"
264
THE FOMOR STRIKE

265
The orders were passed. The Fotnor spread into a thick, ragged line and
then surged forward, like a storm-whipped wave rolling toward a beach, to
crash upon the de Dananns' fragile-looking wall,
A shower of slender but deadly spears fell upon them as they reached the
ditch, decimating their first ranks. Despite Nuada's worry about their
throwing skills, the de Dananns had learned something after all. They stole
the momentum from the assault, and it was in a trickle, not a flood, that the
Fomor came against the barricades.
The wave of Fomor warriors surged about the fortress, trying at point after
point to climb the walls or tear them down. But the barricades heid, the de
Dananns battling courageously to keep the Fomor out.
Bres fumed at the incompetence of this ill-begotten brood of monsters. How

did Balor expect him to control Eire with such beings?
He would have to break through the de Dananns himself For all its courage,
the force thwarting him must be nearly exhausted. A wily fighter, a veteran
of the war with the Fir-bolgs, he had analyzed the de Dananns' defenses. He
saw a weak spot in the wicker barricades just below the main gates into the
fortress. Like a bundle of dried twigs, it was ready to be snapped by one,
smart blow. If he could break through here, his forces could swarm in and
destroy the whole de Danann line while he himself led a force to seize the
fortress. The de Dananns would be trapped with no place to retreat. Their
doom would be assured.
He ordered his reserve company against the weak point, riding behind them,
ready to charge through the expected breach. The Fomor threw themselves
against the wicker walls, hacking into them, trying to rip them down, while
the defenders showered them with spears and drove back any enemy who
tried to climb across.
"Push through! Push through, you mindless animals," Bres screamed at the
warriors. He drew his sword and rode his horse in amongst the attackers,
driving them forward like cattle with threats and stinging blows of his
sword flat, pushing them against the crumbling barricades.
Finally, the sheer pressure of their numbers seemed to make the wall give
way.
An entire section splintered apart, opening a wide gap.
Swiftly Bres urged his horse forward, charging through the breach, slashing
out at the defenders who scattered before him. His company followed him
through, and then other Fomor, forcing the gap wider, spreading out to
attack the de Danann warriors on either side.
Suddenly the resistance before Bres ended. He realized that all the
defenders had fled, leaving the way ahead clear. The rest of the army of
Tara was engaged in defending the remainder of the wall. There was no one
to oppose his advance toward the fortress gates. With a sense of triumph
already growing in him, he ordered his company to follow and started up
the slope, leaving the rest of the Fomor to deal with the de Dananns at the
lower barricades. One great desire, one goal drove him now—to reclaim the
fortress and his throne.
It took only moments to reach the gates, and he set his men against them at
once. He expected to meet some resistance from within, but there was none,
and the gates swung inward at the first Fomor push. They were unlocked.
The de Dananns had been more desperate than he'd thought, Bres decided.
They had commited every warrior to the fight at the barricades, not sparing
any to defend the fortress in case they had to retreat. Now that retreat would
be impossible.
Impatient to reassume his sovereignty, he pushed his horse forward through

the gates as soon as they had been opened far enough. He rode into the
courtyard, still muddy from the nights rain, and searched about him for any
sign of challengers. But there were none. The fortress looked totally
deserted. Tara was his.
He urged the horse toward the center of the yard. There he pulled up short,
staring at a peculiar object directly ahead. A fire had been built before the
main entrance to the hall. The ground around it had been trampled to a mire
by countless feet. Over this fire a tripod of heavy beams had been erected,,
and suspended from this on a chain was an enormous black cauldron.
'Welcome, Bres," said a voice from above him.
He looked up toward the walkway linking the hall to the parapet. There
stood the little Druid Findgoll, smiling down at him.
We were certain you couldn't resist the chance to enter Tara first yourself,"
he went on. "We waited for you."
266
And, as he spoke, a group appeared from the halls main doors. Lugh, Aine,
Morrigan, the Dagda, Angus Og, and Cilia walked out into the yard,
stopping beside the cauldron to face Bres. At the same time a shimmering
light streamed from behind the hall, flowing into a ring around the Fomor
company. As it closed its circle, it came to a halt, resolving into the separate
forms of the shining Riders of the Sidhe, sitting upon their proud steeds as
charged with energy and imperious as ever. In one movement, their lances
dropped forward to point at the group of warriors, who cowered back into a
tight huddle.
Bres, however, seemed very little impressed by this unexpected appearance.

He looked over the little band of heroes with contempt.
"So, you did manage to get here after all. Too bad it wasn't enough to save
your de Dananns."
"I think you're wrong, Bres," Lugh remarked lightly. "Look again."
Suspicious, the former High-King threw only a quick glance out the gates.
But what he saw below the hill captured his gaze at once. The other Fomor
who had poured through the breach in the barricades were now stopped,
caught in a closing vise ol de Dananns led by Nuada himself. And all along
the outer wall, the men of Tara had launched a furious counterassault that
was driving Bres's army back in panic. He realized with a shock that the
weakness of the de Dananns had been feigned. The magic of the cauldron
really had restored their strength, and they were now using it to devastate
his forces with tremendous zeal.
"Your Fomor friends have set so many little traps for us these last days,"
Gilla told him gleefully, "we only thought it fair that you be given the fine
experience of one yourself!"
Bres jerked back around to face the band. The lot of them were grinning at
him with a smugness maddening to him. His face darkened with rage.
"Kill them!" he ordered the Fomor massed behind him.
They, however, had other ideas. They looked fearfully around at the
threatening circle of gleaming Riders and toward the rest of their army, now
being so efficiently destroyed. They stood unmoving.
"I said kill them!" he cried again, more heatedly.
THE FOMOR STRIKE
267
"If you surrender, you'll not be killed," Lugh promised quietly.
That sounded a much more logical choice to the Fomor. For all of Bres's
low opinion of them, they were not wholly fools. They were not eager to
die, and they certainly owed nothing to their contemptuous leader. They
dropped their weapons.
"You worthless vermin!" he screamed at them. His gaze swung around to

the object of his defeat, this boyish champion who had so often thwarted
him, who now glowed with his triumph.
Driven nearly insane by his anger, Bres spurred his horse suddenly forward.
He charged across the yard, lifting his sword high. His only thought was to
destroy his most hated enemy, to strike down Lugh.
His swift attack seemed to raise no alarm amongst the little band. Lugh
watched Bres come on without concern, not even drawing his own sword in
defense. He had expected some such move from the man. He was prepared.
When he judged the horse was close enough, he simply stepped to one side
and said a single word:
"Shaglan!"
From behind him an enormous lionlike beast leaped forward, voicing a

tremendous roar.
The effect on the horse was dramatic. Panicked, the animal reared back
sharply, neighing shrilly in terror. It rose up onto its hind legs and lost its
balance entirely in its effort to turn away, rolling down onto its side.
Taken off guard by this fall, Bres had no chance to jump clear. He was
thrown violently from the horse's back, landing heavily, face forward, in the
soggy yard. His sword was flung away by the impact, burying its length in
the mud.
Its finely jeweled hilt, like the man who had held it, was coated with the
black ooze.
The great cat hopped lightly to the downed man and lowered its head over
him.
As Bres struggled to rise, he looked up to find himself staring into a

formidable set of fangs.
^Don't kill him, Shaglan," Lugh said. Why not?" the Dagda asked in
astonishment. "He's a traitor to us. He has the Fomor blood."
He has de Danann blood too," Lugh reminded hrn. "He doesn't deserve to
die this way."
r
268
The big man shrugged. "If that's your wish," he said, not really
understanding such compassion.
The Riders had quickly herded the disarmed Fomor back against the inside
of the fortress wall, penning them there with a fence of leveled spears. The
Dagda stepped forward and hauled Bres up roughly from the mud, smiling
at the thick coating of black that reduced the man's form to something
barely human.
"Our grand High-King," the champion said scornfully. "You're no different

from your pack of filthy beasts now, are you?" He flung the man into the
bunched captives. "Here, join your friends. I'm certain they'll be glad to
share your company. "
His arrogance undiminished by defeat, Bres cast a disdainful look around at

the cowed Fomor.
"These witless slugs failed me," he said, sneering, then bent a hate-filled
gaze on the Dagda. "But I'll yet see you destroyed!"
"You just give your thanks that you're alive at all now," the champion
warned.
"And if you move or speak again, I'll kill you myself. That I promise you."
He hefted his great battle-ax meaningfully. Bres continued to glare, but he

stayed motionless and silent.
By this time, Findgoll was down from the walkway and had joined his
comrades.
Together they moved to the main gates of Tara. Their own part in the trap
successful, they were ready to help out in the fight below.
But as the little band of heroes came out of the fortress onto the hillside,
they realized their help would not be needed. They stood and looked out
across the scene of battle and gloried in the spectacle of their people,
reveling in their newly reborn vigor, sweeping in pursuit of a routed,
shattered Fomor army. The battle-rage fully upon them, they ripped
savagely into the rear of the retreating forces. Whether harpers or herdsmen,
artists or smiths, they were all warriors now, redeeming their long years of
humiliation in Fomor blood.
And it was Nuada himself who was in their forefront. The old High-King,
his own vigor and confidence fully restored to him, fought with the skill
and power of a young champion. He waded into the midst of Fomor
companies, swinging his sword
THE FOMOR STRIKE
269
about him with a fury that the bestial warriors could not withstand. He
slaughtered without mercy, breaking any resistance, leading his de Dananns
forward with such speed that the Fomor finally abandoned any attempt to
fight a rearguard action and took up a headlong flight, many even casting
away weapons and armor to increase their speed,
"It's few of those poor creatures that will live to reach safety," Gilla
remarked.
The strong scent of blood from, the battlefield was too great for Morrigan to
resist. She transformed herself and flapped into the air. Soon the grim form
of the black battle-raven, like some goddess of death herself, swooped low
over the field, absorbing the atmosphere of violence, ready to sate her
unnatural thirst.
As he realized the remaining Fomor forces were scattering before him,

Nuada ordered his own companies to a halt. From the warriors around him
a cheer rose, running swiftly along the whole line of men, rising to a roaring
crescendo that the watchers on the hill happily joined.
Passing orders to his chieftains to regroup their forces, Nuada quickly
climbed onto a horse brought him and galloped back toward the fortress
with a troop of mounted warriors, anxious now to see how his champions
had fared.
He reined in before them at the gates, a commanding figure on the tall

animal, the battle light still shining in his face, the longsword still clutched
in his massive hand. He peered through the gates into the fortress yard and
beamed with pleasure when he saw how things had gone.
"So, you succeeded in your plan too," he said. "We finally have Bres."
"We should be done with him now," growled the Dagda. "If you'd give me
the pleasure—"
"Please, High-King," Lugh said. "Let him live."
"Let him live?" said Nuada in disbelief "But he is our most dangerous
enemy!"
"Not anymore. He's beaten. At least wait until we have some chance to
consider fairly his fate."
Nuada shrugged. "All right, young champion, if that's your wish. But you
are very forgiving."
"Not really," Lugh answered thoughtfully. "I've just a feeling in me that he

should be treated with justice."
270
Nuada turned to the warriors who had accompanied him.
"See to Bres," he ordered. "Take him to the cell in the armory and watch
him well!"
The men dismounted and moved quickly to secure Bres. One of them was
the young warrior Ruadan. He moved with apparent eagerness to take hold
of this traitor to the de Dananns. But as he helped march the captive away,
his eyes met his father's for one, brief moment. And in that moment, a
message was exchanged.
With Bres disposed of, Nuada now turned his attention back to his
champions.
"There's much yet to be done, my friends. The army must be re-formed. The
wounded and dead must be seen to. And then"—he grinned broadly at them
—"then we can truly celebrate!"
XXXI
THE FOMOR STRIKE
271
FREEDOM
LIGHTS AND COLORS flickered and flashed across the white expanse of
wall. The images flowed together like reflections in a still pool streaked by
a sweeping hand. Finally they steadied into recognizable forms.
It was a battlefield depicted there, where thousands of warriors contended

in a struggle whose massive carnage stained the grassy meadows red. It was
the scene of the battle for Tara.
The wavering glow reflected from this image fel! upon the two beings who
were the only audience. It played eerily across the grotesque being that
hung suspended in its tank of glass, seeming to float like some captive
creature of the sea's most sunless depths. It glinted dully from the metal
body of the massive, vaguely human form that sat in a giant throne beside
the tank, the red slit of its single eye fixed on the rapidly shifting pictures
projected upon the wall.
Balor watched, unmoving, as the Fomor army met defeat. He watched as its
forces were shattered by the de Dananns, chased back in panic, scattered
into the northern hills.
"Bres has failed as you have, Balor," came the horrible whisper of the
wasted Druid. "Your Eireland Fomor have been beaten by the de Dananns.
Our enemies have their full strength once again."
"It was the power of Manannan that helped them succeed," the giant
answered in hard, ringing tones of anger. "And it was Lugh Lamfada, as
before. You are right. The Prophecy protects him. He cannot be destroyed."
"Perhaps," the Druid replied thoughtfully. "But this little contest has taught
me much about our mutual adversaries. Let the fools have their victory for
now. This war is far from over. We'll find a way to see them beaten yet.
Somehow, I promise you, I will have my revenge!"
All the great fortress of Tara was filled with a glorious golden light. Within
the main hall, scores of torches were set in the thick pillars supporting the
high roof. In the stone-lined fire pit, an enormous blaze sent its own glow
reflecting in a rich, ruddy gleam from the bronze panels that covered the
outer walls, and threw into sharp relief the intricate carvings of serpents,
birds, and beasts that intertwined in joyous and sensuous abandon all up and
down the red yew pillars. Suspended above this fire was the cauldron, its
magic contents un-diminished by the multitudes, the simmering broth
scenting the air with a marvelous aroma that itself seemed to invigorate.
The vast room was filled to nearly bursting with its crowd of revelers.
Chieftains, Druids, warriors, and their families were there, all celebrating
with a sense of freedom they'd not known in many years. For today they
had truly thrown off the shackles of the Fomor.
Only one figure in the hall seemed not to enter into the spirit of festivity.
At the gallery rail of the upper room stood Bobd Derg, gazing down upon
the scene below, brooding.
Throughout the hall, winding through the long rows of tables about the fire
pit, bards sang their newly composed epics of the victory with great vigor
and true, heroic exaggeration,
272
delighting the rapt listeners who already believed every deed was true.
Other entertainers circulated too. Harpers and pipers played their fine, high
airs. Jugglers, clowns, and conjurers whose skills had long gone unused
now performed exuberantly, unleashing the spirits so many years supressed.
Up on the dais of (he High-King, one performer especially seemed to be

enjoying himself. A lanky clown in striped cloak and great, flopping shoes,
he was astonishing the company at Nuada s table with the juggling of a very
peculiar set of objects that he had pulled one by one from the folds of the
voluminous garment. A full jug of wine, a lighted brand, a keen-edged
dagger, and a very angry kitten were somehow kept up, whirling, with
nothing dropped or spilled, while he balanced upon the tabletop, swaying so
precariously diat there were gasps of alarm from his audience at every
move.
Amongst the watchers was a strange trio. The Dagda and Angus, both well
along in the drinking, stood with arms linked about an enormous, shaggy
wolfhound who stood upright on his hind legs between them, opening his
mouth often to let them pour just a bit more ale in. All three were unsteady,
but managing to do their swaying in unison. Morrigan, sitting furled in her
dark cloak nearby, fixed a stern and disapproving glare on them. Her own
thirst had long since been fully assuaged on the battlefield.
The clown's act ended, suddenly and quite dramatically. He seemed to

stumble badly and lose his footing. With a loud "Whooops!" he crashed
heavily onto the tabletop. The_ kitten shrieked in fear. But there was no
danger. As the clown landed, he neatly caught all the objects, including the
cat, and the shocked cries of his audience turned to howls of laughter as
they realized this was part of his act. In response he gave them a broad,
foolish grin.
"Gilla, it's truly a marvel you are!" Nuada said heartily, standing to clap a
hand on the clowns shoulder. "But, someday, you'll take a risk too many."
"Not that one!" the Dagda roared. "He'll never find enough to make him
satisfied."
Nuada looked toward the champion and his friends. His gaze was drawn to
the Pooka and he stared at the creature fixedly.
THE FOMOR STRIKE
273
"Would you mind telling me," he asked it, "are you changing right before
me, or has the drink a stronger hold on me than I thought? I was certain you
looked a dog before, but now you seem more like a horse to me."
"Ifflff • - -"it began thickly but paused, appearing to have some difficulty
with the large horse lips. It tried again. "I've been a great long time without
the drinkin'. And it's had its evil way with me a bit, so it has. I'm afraid that
what my shape chooses to do now is right out of my control."
"Well, it's good to know that," Nuada said with relief.
Gilla had now pocketed his objects and climbed from the tabletop to sit
down by the Druid Findgoll. The High-King lifted his cup of ale high and
spoke out loudly to all those at his
table.
"I think it's time we gave our praise to our fine company of heroes." He
swept the cup around him to include them all. "It was you who gave us our
victory."
"It was the warriors of the de Danann who won the victory," the Dagda said.
"Nothing we've done would have been of any use without their spirit to
fight.
They've truly earned the right to call Eire theirs again."
"It's the truth you're speaking," Nuada agreed. "Still, we'd have been surely
destroyed without the cauldron's power, and for bringing it, you deserve our
thanks." He looked at the Pooka. "And special honors to you, Shaglan. Your
courage has proven your honesty and won you a place here." He turned to
face the clown. "And you, Gilla," he said with some puzzlement. "Once
more you've helped us, and you not even of Eirel What is it that brings you
to do it?"
Gilla cast a look around at his companions. Any of them could now reveal
the reason to the whole of the de Danann race.
It was the Dagda who finally spoke.
"Why, Nuada, I know the reason!" Gilla held his breath. "The clown's a
madman!
Everyone knows that!"
The crowd about them laughed. Gilla exhaled with relief and smiled his
thanks to the big champion. He got a broad wink in reply.
"It's Lugh Lamfada should be getting the most honors here," young Angus
pointed out. "For there'd have been no army hosted and no cauldron, either,
without him."
274
There were cheers of agreement from the company at that. Nuada looked
about him for the Champion of the Siohe without success.
"But, where is Lugh?" he asked. "I've not seen him for some while. And
that girl Aine seems to be gone as weli."
"Ah well, as to that," said Gilla casually, "I think I saw them leaving the
hall a little while ago." He exchanged a knowing look with Findgoll.
"Going for a bit of fresh air, I think they were. Don't you?"
The quick-witted little Druid understood at once. Eyes twinkling with

merriment, he replied assuredly:
"I do, for certain. I know they said something about being very warm."
Both men were speaking the truth, but the fresh air the young pair was
enjoying was not just outside lara's hall. Hiey were now seated on a hillside
far across the meadows from the fortress's hill, while the great horse of the
Sidhe stood quietly nearby, glowing softly in the darkness.
Lugh had dismissed the Riders back to whatever otherworldly realm they
inhabited. But he had kept the horse. Both feeling a need to be apart from
the rest, they had ridden away on it, streaking across the countryside. They
had expected the wind of their speed to cool the heat that the ale and the
exhilaration of their victory had raised in their bodies. But they had found
that the feel of the powerful beast moving rhythmically beneath them and
the touch of their two bodies pressed tightly together on its back somehow
created an even greater warmth in them.
Now, seated unmoving on the hill, Lugh became aware that there was a
touch of fall chill in the air. Though it was no discomfort on his burning
skin, he thought that the lightly clad Aine might be uncomfortable.
"Are you cold at all?" he asked. "I could put my cloak about us both for
warmth."
"No, I'm not cold at all," she said. Then she smiled. "But you could put your
cloak about me anyway."
Such an invitation Lugh was quick to accept, pulling the cloak around her
shoulders with one arm, settling the other about her waist to pull her close.
He was very aware of her supple body relaxing against him. He couid feel
the heat of her bare thigh against his own and the soft swell of her breast
against his side.
THE FOMOR STRIKE
275
Across the dark meadows, Tara was clearly visible, marked by the glow of
the scores of torches and fires burning ic the courtyard where hundreds of
de Dananns celebrated. The many lights combined and lifted up from
within the circle of the palisades, forming a high golden cone above.
With this first chance for ease and peace in many days, Lugh was able to
consider something he'd put aside.
"Aine, do you realize what this victory means? The Prophecy is fulfilled.
I'm finally free to seek my own life."
"Are you certain its finished?" she asked quietly.
"Bres is captured. The Fomor forces in Eire are broken, and without him
they'll never be able to organize again."
"There's still the Tower," she reminded him.
He shook his head. "With Balor gone, without their Eireland beasts to fight
for them, I don't think those in the Tower are likely to risk themselves just
to try mastering us again."
She was silent for a time. When she spoke, it was in a voice that was, for
her, strangely hesitant.
"You know, if that's true, then the task of my brother and I is finished too.
We could leave Eire. We could go back to Tir-na-nog."
He looked down at her in alarm.
"No!" he said quickly. "You can't do that. Not now. Not when I know—"
She looked up, fixing him with those clear, appraising eyes.
"And just what is it you think you know?"
He met her gaze. There was that indefinable something again, glinting in
the lustrous blue depths. Was it an invitation or a challenge he saw there?
"We began something not so long ago," he said boldly. "Would you be
willing to continue it or not?"
"Right now we've some peace," she answered gravely, "Right now we're
together and alone, and we've no way to know what tomorrow will be
bringing us. If such a chance may not come to us again, I don't think we
should be letting it go, do you?"
His reply was to draw her tightly against him and drop his mouth to hers.
This time she returned his kiss with a passion that more than matched his
own.
276
On the fortress hill of Tara, the lights of celebration burned on far into the
night. Their brightness filled every structure in the great dun, except for
one.
In the vast armory room, only a single torch burned. Its wavering red light
flicked spots of brightness from the great stacks and rows of arms about it.
Its glow fell upon two figures lying still on the earthen floor and showed the
spreading dark stains soaking into the hard-beaten clay.
Between the two—dead warriors—a heavy timber door stood open. The
faint torchlight was enough to show that the tiny cell beyond the door was
empty.
Outside, two figures moved cautiously around the armory building, away
from the crowd of revelers before the central hall. They safely crossed an
open area to the timber palisade, and crept along it, keeping to its deepest
shadows.
Their goal was a small gate used to allow night patrols in and out of Tara.
Tonight it was unguarded, its keepers gone to join in the celebrations.
When the pair reached it, one of them quickly unlatched the gate and
pushed it open, looking out briefly to be certain the way was clear before
turning back to address the other in hushed tones.
"I've arranged everything, Father," said Ruadan. "I've horses waiting in the
town below. We'll have no trouble making it away. Everyone is here."
Bres put a firm hand on the boy's shoulder and spoke urgently.
"No, Ruadan. I go alone. You must stay here."
The boy opened his mouth to protest, but Bres stopped him.
"You've got to do it. Don't you see? You're much more valuable to me here.
If I can ever raise a new force against them, I'll need your help."
"All right, Father," the other reluctantly agreed. He handed his own sword
over. "Here, take this. And go now, quickly, before someone comes."
Bres nodded and slipped out through the gate. Ruadan watched his father
until he vanished into the night. Then he carefully latched the gate and
turned back toward the lights of the celebration.
For an instant in the revealing glow, his hatred of these victors showed
nakedly in his face. Then it was masked with the
THE FOMOB STRIKE
277
bovish look of innocent goodwill. He started forward, ready to throw

himself with apparent gusto into the merriment.
And outside the walls, Bres made his way down the slope of Tara in the
darkness, alone, defeated, and humiliated, but free again! He paused at the
hill's base to cast a look back up at the radiant fortress that should have been
his. His fist tightened about the hilt of the sword.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KENNETH C. FLINT is a graduate of the University of Nebraska with a

Masters Degree in English Literature. For several years he taught in the
Department of Humanities at the University of Nebraska at Omaha.
Presently he is Chairman of English for the Plattsmouth Community
Schools {a system in a suburban community of Omaha).
In addition to teaching, he has worked as a freelance writer. He has

produced articles and short stories for various markets and has written
screenplays for some Omaha-based film companies.
Mr. Flint became interested in Celtic mythology in graduate school, where

he saw a great source of material in this long neglected area of western
literature. Since then he has spent much time researching in England and
Ireland and developing works of fantasy that would interest modern readers,
He is the author of two previous novels, A STORM UPON ULSTER and
RIDERS OF THE
SIDHE. His next novel, MASTER OF THE SIDHE, will be published by

Bantam in 1985.

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CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

A Bantam Book I December 1984

Copyright © 1984 by Kenneth C. Flint-Cover art copyright © 1984 by Don

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or

ISBN 0-553-24543-0 Published simultaneously in the United States and

Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Regtstrada.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

At the quays, a score of slender ships of a curiously smooth black metal

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

Twenty soldiers emerged from the Tower, moving in a brisk, high-stepping

He was, indeed, a figure worthy of note. His appearance was in sharp

He strode down purposefully to the ship and stopped by its gangway. A

"We sail in a few moments, High-King Bres," he announced to the brightly

And then a voice addressed it.

There was no immediate response. Then, with an agonizing slowness and a

"It is necessary for him to succeed, Sital Salmhor. If he is unable to

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

That would insure a victory."

The frightened woman looked up at them in horror as she pulled herself

With obvious enjoyment he watched the frightened woman stumble away.

"Phaw!" he exclaimed disgustedly. "What a sorry catch we've got here. No

"Rebels?" the man repeated blankly. "No. We know nothing about a

Please, believe me!"

"Captain!" called a dog-faced warrior, coming out of one of the huts. He

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

In dress, he seemed a warrior. He wore a simple tunic of white with a cloak

He was altogether a fine and pleasant-looking young man, and he smiled on

"My name is Lugh Lamfada," he stated in a matter-of-fact voice.

"I didn't say that I was alone."

He was a loose-jointed and gangly sort of fellow dressed in the baggy,

"Gilla Decaire is my name," he said in a breezy way. "And I'm pleased to

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

In broad hands he hefted the immense, gleaming battle-ax with which he

The face of a woman showed above the cloak, high-browed, hollow-

"Boy," he said in a blustering voice, "in a moment your sword will be

Lugh and his companions made no move to meet the attack.

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

"Now, Captain," Lugh said, "look around at your warriors."

"And you, get up from that mud," he told them forcefully.?

"The High-King?" The man gasped in shock.

Cilia Decaire crossed the yard to them.

I believe you," the boy said with great seriousness.

The clown was willingly entertaining them, bringing smiles 14

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

"Perhaps," Febal agreed. "But perhaps Bobd Derg is right."

In gratitude, the clans of Nemed had taken on a new name, Tuatha de

Isn't reason saying to us that we should give it up?"

"Even if it means death?" Febal asked.

He stood up, a massive figure, to address them all.

"We've seen more than our share," Febal's wife put

"Oh? And were all of them going the same way?"

"Aye, they did," said another. "And all in a great hurry."

"And just which way was it?"

"North and east," he told her. "Toward the sea."

"I'd give a pretty to be havin' her powers, so I would," he said sincerely.

She likely did it on purpose, knowing her twisted mind."

CHAMPIONS OF THE SIDHE

"What's Morrigan about?" Gilla wondered, pointing.

"She says there's a ship coming in now."