The Hobbler’s Hovel…

*

… “Strength of my sword-arm,” continued Fiachna, “destitute and decrepit though I now am, I have a treasure hidden away. I never dared dream I would live to pass it on to Cuill’s son.”

“Fine will be the gift of one who honours my father. Describe it to me.”

“It is the spear that Cuill stole from the Crafty Ones. I secreted it away wrapped in its cloak of darkness even as Goll and his clan sacked your father’s dun. I buried it and built my hovel over it. Tonight, should you wish it, it shall be yours.”

“Fiachna, my father-friend, with that spear this night I hope to win back my birth-right. It is in my mind to test my might against Alain, son of Mithna.”

“Terrible that spear, son of Cuill, I would not tempt you to your death with it.”

“My mind is set with or without the spear. Tonight I shall stand guard over Tara.”

“You have a chieftain’s way with words, Fin. Hasten to Tara now. Say nothing of the spear. I will bring it to you when you have chosen your ground.”

“Fiachna,” said Fin, “if I win victory tonight, I will be your foster-son.”

“Win victory for Tara, son of Cuill, and think no more on me. Win victory for your father and all his broken men.”

“For Cuill,” said Fin, and set off at pace along the High-Way to Tara.

*

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