«The chiefs of the voyage over the sea
By which the sons of Mil came.
It was not very long, ending
«Who opens the gateway to Tir na n-Og?
Who butI, Ollgaeth the druid?»
He clapped his hands together sharply. The wavering reflection faded out and Shea saw nothing but blackness, as if he were looking into a tunnel in the side of the hill.
«Approach, approach,» said Ollgaeth, «If is not like that the Sidhe will be dangerous against a druid as powerful as myself.»
Shea went nearer. Sure enough, he was looking down a tunnel that stretched some distance into blackness, with a faint light beyond. He put out a hand; it went into the hole where solid rock had been without resistance, except for a slight tingly feeling.
Shea asked, «How long will it stay open?»
«Long enough for whatever passes to reach the other side.»
«Do you suppose I could open it, too?»
«Are you not a qualified magician, now? To be sure you could, if you will learn the spell. But you will give me something in exchange.»
«Certainly,» said Shea. He thought; there was the one he had used in Faerie. «How about a spell to change water into wine? I can teach it to you first thing in the morning.» If he did it himself, the result would probably be rum of an uncommonly potent brew, but qualitative control was this guy’s own business.
Ollgaeth’s eyes almost glittered in the moonlight. «That would be a thing to see, now. Raise your arms.»
He followed Ollgaeth through the spell a couple of times, then repeated it alone. The wavelike shimmering disappeared, and the tunnel came open.
«I am thinking,» said Ollgaeth, as they made their way back to the town, «that it would be as well not to come here again the night. The Sidhe will be noticing their gate clap open and shut and setting a guard over it, and though they are poor in arms, it’s a bad-tempered lot they are.»
«I’ll be careful,» said Shea.
Within, he tapped at the door of the guesthouse.
«Who’s there?» asked Belphebe’s voice.
«It’s me — Harold.»
The bolt slammed back, and the door opened to show her still fully dressed, a little line of worry in her forehead.
«My lord,» she said, «I do pray your pardon for my angers. I do see now ‘twas no more your fault than it was mine at Muirthemne. But we must be quick.»
«What do you mean?»
She was collecting their small amount of gear.
«Pete was here but now. We are in deadly danger, but more especiallyyourself. The Queen has given permission to this Lughaid who accosted you to take your head if he will.»
Shea put his hand on his sword. «I’d like to see him try it.»
«Foolish man!He is not coming alone, but with a band — six, half a score. Come.» She pulled him toward the door.
«But where’s Pete? We can’t go back without him.»
«Nor can we go back at all if we do not live out the night,» she said, leading out into the dark, silent street. «Pete is doing what he can to gain us time — his singing’s wholly caught them. Hurry!»
«I don’t see what good merely running away tonight will do us,» said Shea. «Wait a minute, though. I can get in touch with Ollgaeth. You’re right.»
There was only one guard at the gate, but he held his spear crosswise and said, «I cannot be letting you out again the night. The Queen has sent word.»
Belphebe gave a little cry. Shea half-turned to see sparks of light dancing, back among the houses. Torches. He swung round again, bringing his sword out with awheep, and without warning, drove a thrust at the guard’s neck. The soldier jerked up his buckler just in time to catch Shea’s point in the edge of the bronze decorations. Then he lowered his spear and drew it back for a jab.
Shea recovered, knocking the spear aside, but was unable to get around the shield for a return lunge.
He thrust twice, feinting with the intention of driving home into an opening, but each time a slight movement of the buckler showed it would be futile.
The soldier balanced, drew back for another thrust, and then swore as Belphebe, who had slipped past him, caught the butt end of the weapon.
He shouted, «Ho!An alarm!»
They would have to work fast. Shea aimed a cut at the man’s head, but he ducked, simultaneously releasing the spear into Belphebe’s hands, who went tumbling backward as the man did a quick side-step and whipped out his sword.
Shea made a lightning estimate; the guard’s face and neckwere too small a target and too well protected by the shield, and the torso was doubly protected by shield and mail. Down.
He made a quick upward sweep that brought the buckler aloft, then drove the blade into the man’s thigh, just above the knee and below the edge of the kilt. He felt the blade cleave meat; the man’s leg buckled, spilling him to the ground in a clang of metal with a great groaning shout.
Behind them in the rath there were answering cries and the torchlight points turned. «Come on!» cried Belphebe, and began to run. She still clutched the big spear, but was so light on her feet that it did not appear to matter. Shea, trying to keep up with his wife, heard more shouts behind him. «The hill,» he gasped, and as he ran, was suddenly glad that the Irish of this period were not much with bows.
There were only occasional trees, but the moonlight was tricky and dubious. A glance backward showed the torchbearers had reached the gate and were beginning to spread. There ought to be just barely time if he could remember the spell correctly. Whatever dangers the country of the Sidhe held, they were less than those to be encountered by staying.
He was getting short of breath, though Belphebe beside him was running as lightly as ever. The hill loomed over them, dark now by reason of the movement of the moon. «This way,» gasped Shea, and led up the uneven slope. There was the black rock, still shining queerly mirrorlike. Shea lifted his arms over his head and began to chant, panting for breath:
«The chiefs of the voyage — over the sea — By which — the sons of Mil came.»
Behind one of the pursuers set up a view-halloo. Out of the corner of his eye, Shea saw Belphebe whirl and balance the spear as though for throwing; he didn’t have time to stop and tell her that such a weapon couldn’t be used that way.
«Who but I, Harold mac Shea?» he finished, resoundingly.
«Come on.»
He dragged Belphebe toward the dimly seen black opening and then through it. As he entered the darkness he felt a tingling all over, as of a mild electric shock.
Then, abruptly, sunlight replaced moonlight. He and Belphebe were standing on the downward slope of another hill, like the one they had just entered. He had time to take in the fact that the landscape was similar to the one they had quitted, before something crashed down on the back of his head and knocked him unconscious.
VIII
Briun Mac Smetra, King of the Sidhe of Connacht, leaned forward in his carven chair and looked at the prisoners. Harold Shea looked back at him as calmly as he could, although his hands were bound behind his back and his head was splitting. Briun was a tall, slender person with pale blond hair and blue eyes that seemed too big
