The Hound at the Gate (22 page)

“So, what's the plan?” Finn asked. He thought he knew, but…

“This.” He led them to the low, small window overlooking the front doors and squatted down. With a grunt, he wrestled the sash open. Catcalls and hoots and the stench of excited goblin—not a good smell at all—poured in with the night air, punctuated by the
ka-whump
of the log battering the door. Loose straws swirled around. Finn sneezed.

“You must make every arrow count, Kel!” Gideon shouted over the din. He pointed downward.

“You think?” O'Shea took a knee next to the Knight. “But how… oh. Oh, I see.”

“To me, Finn.”

Taking a deep breath, Finn sat next to his master. Gideon wiped his knife as clean as he could get it, then gave a nod.

“Brace yourself.”

“Yes, sir.” He held out his hand, palm up, and tightened his lips.

“You guys are crazy.” O'Shea pulled the quiver from her back, propped it against the wall next to the window, and selected an arrow. Tucking her feet more securely under her, she nocked the first projectile. Then, suddenly, she grinned. “But right now, crazy is all we got.”

Steeling himself as his master took him by the wrist, Finn looked away, ordering himself not to flinch. A flick of Gideon's hand. A hot pain. He hissed, then glanced down. Blood welled up from the shallow cut and began to pool in his cupped hand.

“Quickly now, Kel,” Gideon said.

She flipped her braids back, then dipped the tip of the arrow into the puddle of blood, twirling it to coat both sides. Still on one knee, she scooted into a better position, leaned out the window, and drew back the string until her thumb touched her ear. A pause.

Pffftt!

A few second later, howls filled the night.

“It worked! The beast's just lying there. Not just a pile of ash, but
dead
.” Awe filled her voice. And hope. She dipped again and sent another arrow zinging away into the night. More howls. Getting into a rhythm, she fired over and over, her weapon making a soft
whiff-twang
with each release.

As O'Shea continued to shower down destruction, Gideon turned toward him. “Are you all right, lad?”

“I'm okay. Just a little dizzy. Not as bad as when I actually
touch
them, you know?” He shifted, resting his shoulder against Gideon's.

“They're running away.” O'Shea leaned farther out to check. “Well, what's left of them. And it looks like the ones attacking the back door are fleeing with them—I can see them coming from around the building.”

Below them, a cheer rose. Nails screeched as they were pulled from planks. Doors rumbled open. Voices shouted with excitement, exclaiming about the bodies of the Amandán littering the area.

“
Gle mhaith
, Kel.” Gideon pulled out his handkerchief and bandaged Finn's hand. He cleared his throat. “About the Spear…”

Before he could finish, she flicked a hand in dismissal. “You had your reasons, Gideon Lir. Knowing you, those reasons were good ones or they were to protect Finn, right?” At the Knight's nod, she continued. “Then that's all I need to know. Unless someone asks me directly if Finnegan MacCullen is the Spear, then I'll play dumb.”

What about the Council
? Finn thought.

“And the
Rath
?” Gideon said. “You are a member, after all.”

“That I am.” O'Shea sighed. She thought for a moment. “Well, at the very least, I should inform our chieftain.”

“Aye, ye should,” said a voice from the edge of the loft.

Toryn Mull stood at the top of the ladder. A chill went through Finn at the chieftain's expressionless stare. Gideon's fingers stilled and tightened around his wrist.

“O'Shea,” Mull began in a flat tone. “Escort the families below. I need to have a word in private with our fine Knight here.” He finished climbing up and stood to one side while the women and children descended. As O'Shea followed the last one down, he stopped her. “Not a word to anyone, if ye please.” She nodded and left.

“Sir, it's my fault—” Finn began. A look from his master snapped his mouth shut. After Gideon finished tying the final knot in the bandage, they stood up and faced the chieftain.

“Who else knows?” Mull began without preamble. “I assume Mac Roth.”

“Aye.”

Turning, Mull leaned over the railing and called, “Mac Roth. Come ye.” He glanced back over a shoulder. “Lochlan O'Neill as well?” At Gideon's nod, he added, “And bring yer apprentice.” He straightened. “It
would
be Martin O'Neill's son,” he muttered. “And Jack Tully's apprentice is kin to this one here, as well. A twisted knot ye've managed to weave, Gideon Lir Black Hand.”

A few moments later, the ladder whimpered in protest as Mac Roth clambered up, trailed by Lochlan. The redheaded Knight glanced about, then his eyes locked on Finn's bandaged hand. He gave a knowing nod. “I thought as much when I saw the bodies of the beasties outside the door.”

“Lir said that ye knew about young Finnegan, too,” Mull stated.

“Oh, aye, to be certain.” Mac Roth crossed over to stand with Gideon. Lochlan followed, slipping in next to Finn.

“'Tis a grave thing to have withheld this knowledge.” The chieftain fixed a stern gaze on Gideon.

“I had my reasons.”

“Did those
reasons
involve a certain sorceress? And a personal vendetta, perhaps?”

“To some extent.”

“You should know,” Mac Roth spoke up. “Iona of the Hills tried to kill young Finn not two months ago. Because of Lir's foresight and the aid of some friends, we were able to thwart her. If she had been successful, we would have lost the Spear.” He gestured toward the noise of celebration below. “And we would have lost a great deal more this very night.”

Mull sighed. He ran a hand down his face. “I'll need to inform the
Rath
. Then our people. However, we'll not speak of this until after we have secured the area and sent our fallen to his long sleep.”

He started to leave when, to Finn's surprise, Gideon stopped him. “Toryn Mull. I ask leave to prepare the site.”

“Aye, I thought ye would want to. Summon us when it is time.” With that, the chieftain left.

“What're they talking about?” Lochlan whispered to Finn.

The memory of a small, motionless figure wrapped in an emerald cloth and lying by a grave on the side of a hill stabbed Finn. “They're talking about Dennis O'Donnell.”

Sitting in the grass at the base of a rocky outcropping north of the barn, Finn yawned, then leaned back against a convenient boulder. He burrowed deeper into Gideon's jacket, grateful for its warmth against the chill of midnight. His master had discarded the garment an hour ago. Next to him, Lochlan dozed, curled in a ball for warmth.

The
ch-tink
of a shovel against earth and stone vied with the grunt of the Knight as he dug. Finn watched his master work in the light of a single lantern that was almost outshone by the moon's glow.

Gideon, stripped to a T-shirt, was mostly hidden in the hole. He bent and lifted, digging with a single-minded ferocity.
He seems angry
, Finn thought.
Like he's mad at…at…himself
. He thought back to the days after Asher had died, and to his own anger and guilt that had wrapped black arms around him.
Something else we have in common
.

After a few minutes, Mac Roth, standing on the lip of the hole, reached down and tapped his friend on the shoulder. “'Tis deep enough. Denny will rest peacefully.”

Panting, Gideon nodded and wiped the sweat from his face with the hem of his shirt. Passing the shovel up to Mac Roth, he hoisted himself out and walked over to Finn, scrubbing his hands clean on his jeans.

Finn scrambled to his feet, wishing he could do something to make his master less sad. “Here.” He handed Gideon his jacket.

Gideon fanned his damp T-shirt, then shrugged on the jacket. “Come, boyos.”

Finn nudged Lochlan awake as he picked up the lantern. They fell in behind their masters, stumbling now and again, both from
weariness and the darkness, as they walked down the slope to the barn. Light oozed out between the slats. The doors were propped wide open, both sagging on their hinges from the repeated attacks.

As they stepped inside, the quiet murmur of voices surrounded them. In the center of the barn, a figure, wrapped in a blanket secured by ropes, was laid on a plank resting across two sawhorses. Fresh pine boughs, twisted into rough Celtic knots, were tucked amongst the folds of the burial shroud. An unsheathed blade lay under the ropes next to his right hand, and his torc rested on his chest. Knights guarded the fallen warrior, two at head and two at feet; Finn noticed Kel O'Shea was one of them.

Nearby, the two other Council members stood in quiet conversation, with O'Neill doing most of the talking. Spotting Gideon and Mac Roth in the doorway, the head of the
Rath
signaled for silence.

Gideon and Mac Roth joined the four guards. Stepping closer, the Knights took hold of the plank. A pause. Then, at Gideon's unspoken command, they hoisted Dennis O'Donnell to their shoulders. With Toryn Mull at their head, the somber crowd walked slowly out of the building, leading the way for the six warriors and their burden.

Falling in with the rest, Finn peeked out of the corner of his eyes, not sure what to do. Next to him, Lochlan brushed him once with his shoulder. Finn bumped him back, grateful for the friend beside him. Around them, voices murmured to one another. He caught Dennis O'Donnell's name over and over.

Suddenly, he noticed Tara Butler an arm's length ahead and to one side, walking alone. Her bow was slung across her back. Without thinking, Finn reached out and tapped her elbow. She whipped her head around, eyes narrowed as if expecting a fight.

“Walk with us?” he whispered. He ignored Lochlan's grumble of protest.

Tara hesitated, then nodded. Slowing down, she eased in beside Finn. “Thanks,” she said softly.

Reaching the grave site, the three apprentices joined the other Tuatha De Danaan in forming a semi-circle around the burial site. Some held lanterns. A few held torches. Their flames cracked and snapped, the burning pine perfuming the night. As silence fell, Finn looked back at the barn.

The six bearers appeared, pacing slowly as if not to wake the sleeping one on their shoulders. They halted by the grave. Then, in a smooth, graceful move, they lifted O'Donnell high above their heads and held him aloft. An offering.

“Goddess Danu.” The chieftain's voice rang out. “Behold one of yer own. Dennis O'Donnell. A Knight of the Tuatha De Danaan. High hero and merry-hearted, he was. Prepare a place for him in the Otherworld.”

With that, the bearers lowered the figure. Dropping to their knees, they bent over and placed the Knight in his grave, then rose and stepped back. Mac Roth walked over and stood next to Lochlan. At a gesture from her master, Tara moved off to her. Gideon remained by himself on the far side.

An expectant hush. Then, Elaine MacDuff began chanting the Song. More voices joined hers, forming a chorus. The deeper tones of the men blended with the higher ones of the women and children.

Singing their warrior to his long sleep.

Finn sang along. Then, glimpsing his master's face across the open grave, his voice faltered.

Gideon stood silent, eyes fixed on the dark hole. In the flickering light of a nearby torch, he seemed to appear and disappear. To Finn, it was like he was there and then not.
Like…like a ghost
. He flinched at the unbidden thought.
What if it was Gideon in that grave
? He peeked up at Mac Roth standing next to Lochlan.
I know Mac Roth would take me on if something happened to Gideon. But it wouldn't be the same
.

Finn eased back, wanting to distance himself from the grave, as if being near it might make it all happen somehow. Slipping through the crowd, he circled the mourners until he stood next to his master. An arm draped across his shoulders.