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enthusiasm. "My own arts won't be much help to her, but come with me.
My home is very close by. I'll take you there to rest while I fetch our
healer."
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"Eat up all of that broth now, you children. Get some strength into
yourselves," Findgoll insisted with motherly concern.
Lugh gladly did as he was bidden, for the broth was hot
and rich with lamb. He drained the last of it and sat back
comfortably on the pile of furs.
It was a circular liss of stone that the druid had brought them to. It
was a crude and simple dwelling that Findgoll had apologized for
several times. But mean as it was, it seemed a fine and cozy place to
the worn lad.
Bright tapestries and furs were hung upon the walls to lessen their
stark look and reduce the chill drafts that in rainy Eire seemed always
to be creeping in. Thick rush mats were scattered upon the packed earth
floor. In a central hearth a fire blazed against the cool of night,
providing a bit of cheering light as well. It had been many days since
Lugh had felt this sense of comfort, this sense of a home. Not since
his own had been destroyed.
And there was something else that brought even greater comfort to him.
Taillta would live.
He glanced across the liss to where she lay resting in one of the small
rooms that surrounded the central one. She lay upon a soft bed while a
man bent over her, cleaning and dressing her wound by the light of
several tapers.
He was Diancecht, the greatest healer of the de Dananns, Findgoll had
told them before he had rushed to fetch the man. Lugh had watched him
skillfully and gently examine Taillta and heard with relief his
declaration that her amazing strength would ensure her recovery. Now
the young man and his friends waited by the fire and talked quietly as
he finished his work.
"You really have been through a great deal, haven't you, poor babes,"
Findgoll fussed on. He flushed from chagrin with himself. "And here I
was, trying to frighten the life from you!"
"Don't you be feelin' badly about that," Gilla consoled heartily. "I
told them there was nothing to fear. Nothing to harm us at all! I knew
it was the druid illusions we'd be facin'. I should have known that it
was you as well. That colorful bit of horror had the mark of your own
sly, twisted mind on it."
Findgoll gave a delighted trill of laughter at that.
"It was a fine bit of work, wasn't it? And it would have sent you
screaming in terror from these mountains, too, if you'd been Fomor," he
assured the clown. "I've used it with great success before. Oh, you
should see them scampering away!"
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THE RIDERS OF THE SIDHE
THE SILVER HAND
157
His tone grew more sober as he added, 'And it is a good thing for all
of us hiding here that such tricks do work, for we've little else to
protect us."
"Findgoll is a true master of cunning tricks, he is," Gilla told the
young pair, and chuckled at his memories. "Why, in Tara, he caused Bres
many a trouble helping the de Dananns. Once, when the king put a tax on
the cows' milk, it was Findgoll made three hundred cows of wood with
pails for udders and used his magic to make them look real. He put
black bog stuff in the pails. When Bres came to see them and have them
milked before him, it was the bog stuff they squeezed out. Bres took a
great drink, thinkin' it was milk!" The clown hooted with laughter.
"Ah, the king wasn't the better for that for a long time. That he was
not!"
"Gilla may praise me, but he is a clever one with the tricks himself,"
the druid responded warmly. "It was by his cleverness that I escaped
from Tara when the Fomor came to raid our schools and destroy us. It
was many a teacher and artist and bard he saved from them. And many of
us hiding safely here owe our lives to him."
Lugh eyed his odd companion with increased interest.
"I hadn't realized he was so great a help to you," he said
thoughtfully. "It was my good fortune to meet him, it seems."
"Gilla is a modest one," said Findgoll. "He's never even said why he
risked himself for us. He's not one of our people." He smiled. "At
least, I don't think so. No one knows much about Gilla."
"There's little to be told," the clown replied lightly. "I'm a simple,
rovin' entertainer, searchin' for ways to keep life lively. And if a
man does have reasons for what he does meant for only himself, then
what business has anyone else to be pryin' into them. Right lad?" He
gave Lugh a mischievous wink.
The young man caught his meaning. Though he might have, Gilla had never
asked the lad questions about his purpose in Eire or showed any
curiosity about Aine's presence. Lugh owed him the sanie courtesy.
"Prying or not, I'd still like to know more about you," said a new
voice. "My poet's instincts tell me there must be some good tales in
your adventures."
The speaker was a man who had just entered the liss. He
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