The Collector 3: Cauldron Page 14

  “How so, bard?” Mór’s voice was quiet. Music wasn’t something within her personal realm of experience, but she was always alert to anything new in the field of magical arts.

  “They have a system whereby each note is assigned a symbol, and these symbols made be played within a key.”

  “A key?” She frowned. “Whatever is one of those?”

  “I’m not sure I understand it,” he confessed. “She spoke also of quavers, and crotchets, until my head began to spin.” He spread his hands. “It has power; all music has power, but this seems to elevate it to something beyond my ken.”

  “Dangerous, dangerous,” Mór muttered.

  “Perhaps. She taught me a song she called Danny Boy. It’s sentimental, and has a wonderful melody.”

  Mór waved a hand, and he fell silent. She had little time for sentiment of any kind: It was almost more than she could stand to spare any for the man sitting before her. “So. We need to get close to them. Did you sense any kind of attraction between the Susadi woman and the O’Brien?”

  “They are ‑‑ or were ‑‑ lovers, at least for a short while. Katherine is unhappy at Matt’s sleeping with the queen but sees the need. She’s afire to locate the cauldron and hopes to find her grandfather too.”

  “Then we shall help her there.” She poked a bony finger at him. “You must travel with them when they leave.”

  “I’ve arranged to do so.” He felt smug at anticipating her directions. Her next words jarred him.

  “You’ll need to get the cauldron for yourself.”

  He shook his head. “Oh, no! Only the pure of heart may touch it and remain unharmed. I’m not so vain I flatter myself as being pure! I went with her grandfather, and saw the fate the gods had reserved for the fool.”

  “Would you rather stay and see the fate that I will reserve for you?” she enquired. He blinked and drew back, and she nodded. “I thought not. You need that cauldron as much as I, and you know only I can control its power.”

  “Yes; that I know.”

  “So you’ll not need to charm Katherine of the Susadi into letting you accompany them on their quest.” Mór smiled; an unnerving sight. “That much is done. However, she and her big friend won’t be so compliant if you try to take the cauldron from them. Can you seduce her, or would you like me to cast a charm upon her?”

  “I’m a bard!” he snapped, stung to his professional core. “With song and music, I can charm the birds from the bough and the serpent from the nest.” At this he paused and glanced around, remembering the snake-like slithering he’d heard. The bare room was devoid of anything other than themselves and the rug. He recovered his wits and glared at Mór in his haughtiest manner. “Failing that, I can but offer to use the magical powers of my harp in their favour in exchange for her sharing my bed. Whatever I decide to do, I am quite capable of performing the task myself, thank you!”

  Mór smirked, then cocked her head as if listening to something beyond the crude wooden walls of the bothy. “The queen’s just had yet another orgasm,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone and appeared to make a mental calculation. “That’s not bad going on the O’Brien’s part; the Susadi woman’s magic seems to be working.”

  “Will it be a threat to us?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head in emphasis. “Someone so untrained will always fall to proper sorcery. If what awaits her at the tower doesn’t kill her, then I shall surely do so.” She flipped her fingers in dismissal. “Go now, boy, I have things to do.”

  Mór waited until the bard had gone before standing up with a creaking of muscles and a clicking of cartilage. She pressed her hands into the small of her back, stretched and suppressed a groan. As far as she knew, she’d seen seventy summers come and go. Every month seemed to bring her closer to the grave mound, but there was so much to do!

  Grumbling and cursing under her breath, she moved her fingers and spoke certain words. The dull earth floor in the space behind her rug shimmered and a small pile of objects appeared. She grinned. She’d noticed Fergus glance around, seeking her possessions. There were few who would dare steal from one such as she, but there was no sense placing temptation in the way of fools. Kneeling, she selected a shallow bronze pan, the sides of which were embossed with grotesque leaping figures of hunters and animals. A small pottery bottle of oil came next, and she placed this on the hot rim of the brazier to warm.

  Another distant cry came to her sharp ears, and she shook her head. The O’Brien was performing sterling service to the queen. She couldn’t remember another man who’d satisfied her in such a way for over ten years. It made her feel wistful for her own youth, when she’d had the pick of men attracted by her beauty and her father’s wealth. That had led to complications, which had proven useful of late. Mór shook her head to dispel the maudlin thoughts; she’d chosen her path and would not be distracted now.

  Taking up the bottle, she uncorked it and poured the oil into the pan. Rendered fluid by heat, the oil flowed smoothly over the surface of the pan until was covered. As she craned over it, her wizened features stared back at her, reflected by the oil.

  She nodded and took a small leather pouch from her girdle. Untying the drawstring, she drew out a pinch of the powdered herb inside and sprinkled it on the oil, muttering an incantation as she did so. The flecks of herbs floated, unmoving at first, then began to congregate into small clumps, which grew and formed a three dimensional image of Katherine of the Susadi.

  Mór nodded in satisfaction. The magic she was going to cast would be strong enough for the purpose. A much stronger link with the victim would be gained had she some small item of Kate’s in her possession, but that would be over-egging the pudding. Subtle magic was best, especially if the victim was another with magical talent. Quite often, she would be looking for a stronger challenge to the extent she’d overlook the sly and sneaky.

  The spell formed in Mór’s mind, and she moved her hands in mystic passes over the oil. She kept her amusement at bay, for it would interfere with the casting; yet even so, she felt a strong sense of anticipation. Fergus Mac Nessa wouldn’t know what hit him.

  “What do you know of the Cauldron of Fire, Fergus?” Kate asked, as he tuned his harp, ready for their next recital.

  “Enough and not enough,” he said.

  “You’re being evasive!” she said, looking up at him.

  “It’s the truth, Katherine.” He sighed, strummed a chord, and laid the harp aside. “It’s said to lie on a table made of rare wood in the top floor of a tower guarded by a ferocious ogre. The tower itself is concealed from ordinary men, being visible only to those of royal blood or those to whom the queen gives a secret word. Stand before the place where the tower stands and utter the word, and so shall it appear.”

  “Very mysterious!” she said. “I hope to the gods my grandfather didn’t go there.”

  Fergus shrugged and looked away, seeming fascinated with a crowd of warriors who had entered the hall at that moment. “If he did, I know nothing of what transpired.” He looked back at her. “I know he slept with the queen. In return for his favors, it’s not beyond the realms of reason that she gave him the word.”

  “He could be dead,” she said, trying not to think of her grandfather sleeping with the tawny-haired bitch.

  “It’s possible. I’ve not been that way for years.” He coughed. “There was a ... misunderstanding between myself and the chieftain of the O’Gara, whose lands make up the North of this kingdom. I’m not welcome there.”

  “What did you do, sleep with his wife?” she asked.

  “No; his mother.”

  “Eww! Fergus!”

  “She’s a very comely woman!” he said, holding up his hands. “Her looks belie her years by a good measure.”

  “Okay, okay, it’s not for me to criticise,” she said and picked up the flute. “Look, everyone seems to be here; shall we play and forget about cauldrons, towers and horny grandparents?”

  “That suits me!” he sa
id. “What shall we play?”

  “I’ll teach you a song called ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home?’“

  He nodded; she stamped her foot to set the measure, and swept into the tune.

  Chapter Ten

  Matt woke to find he was lying in the queen’s bed, with Maeve herself leaning on one elbow as she looked down at him. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, blinking away the dregs of sleep and eyeing her nakedness. This was one dangerous lady; it paid to be on the top line.

  But Maeve wore a troubled expression. She continued to look down at him, as she trailed one finger across his chest. “I’ve never had a night like that just passed,” she said suddenly. Drawing back the blanket that covered him she looked at his cock. “That monster between your legs gave me more pleasure than I’ve ever known from a man.”

  “I’m glad to be of service,” he said.

  “Are you?” She deliberately tweaked his nipple, making him wince. “My pussy feels as if a troop of my horses have been fucking me all night! I’m very sore!”

  “I’m s-sorry,” he said, sitting upright, but she pushed him down and grinned.

  “I’m not complaining, Matt O’Brien, but what am I to do now? I’m still a married woman, you know.”

  Oh fuck! “Oh, I didn’t realize! I though you were div ‑‑ ah, separated.”

  She flipped her fingers. “It’s of no moment; my jealous clod of a husband is far from here in miles and thought.” Her hand slid down over his chest and stomach and he felt her take hold of his cock and toy with it. “If you were to prove yourself in the quest for the cauldron, I might just make this dalliance permanent.”

  “Is that wise?” he asked, too horror-struck to guard his tongue as the thought of actually living here forever slid through his mind.

  Maeve’s face flushed, and her eyes glittered. “You question my judgement?” she hissed, clenching her fist about his cock. He cried out with pain; the woman had a strong grip. “Get out of here!” Flinging back her covers, she stood, gloriously nude, and pointed at the curtains to her chamber. “Go, and wait beyond there for my decision.” He scrambled to pick up his clothes and she kicked him on the butt as he was bending over. “Fool! I was offering you everything, and you snub me!”

  “All I said was ‑‑”

  She slapped him back-handed across the face, and he felt the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. “You say nothing to me!” she said, standing very close. “Now go, before I order my warriors to drag you out and kill you!”

  Kate heard the commotion from beyond the tapestries and sat up on her bed. Matt emerged a few moments later, clutching his clothes to his groin in an effort to preserve his modesty. She looked him over in disfavour as he came over blushing furiously. “Did madam kick you out, then?”

  “Yeah,” he said.

  “I hope, I really hope you haven’t fucked things up!” she said, making room for him so he could stand by the wall.

  He looked at the crowded hall, where folks were stirring, ready for the day ahead. None seemed to be paying attention to his discomfort, but he seemed reluctant to make a move to dress.

  “Oh, here,” she said, standing up and shaking off the blanket on which she’d been lying. Spreading it out, she made a screen between him and the eyes of the hall. “Get dressed.”

  “Thanks,” he said and paused. “Aren’t you going to look the other way?”

  “No,” she said, grinning.

  He rolled his eyes and proceeded to dress, with Kate following his every move.

  “What kind of evening did you have?” he asked, drawing on his pants.

  “It was okay,” she said, giving a half-shrug. “Fergus and I had a jam session, which went down well enough; we got a few dollars’ worth of trinkets. In the end, I had to quit and go to bed. An awful headache jumped me out of nowhere.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” he said.

  “It’s gone.” He finished dressing, and she dropped the blanket. “What happened with the queen?”

  “She proposed making me king.”

  “Oh, fuck!” She put her hand to her mouth and chortled. “King Matt the First.”

  “You can laugh,” he snorted. “I asked if it was a wise thing to do, and she kicked me out.”

  “Matt, Matt, Matt,” she said, shaking her head. “Never question a woman’s judgement, okay? Just say ‘yes, you’re quite right,’ to everything, and you’ll have long happy relationships with us.”

  Before he could reply, Mór swept up the centre aisle of the hall and disappeared through the tapestries without so much as glancing at them. “That one is trouble!” Kate pronounced.

  “You could be right. I just hope she won’t persuade Maeve to execute us!”

  “I think your activities in the night might offset any insult you gave,” she retorted. “We could hear exactly how many times she came; the hall was abuzz with it. They’d never known her so pleasured!” Matt gave a cocky grin, and she shook her head. “Men!”

  Maeve was sitting before the polished sheet of bronze that served as a mirror, brushing her long, fine hair and seething visibly as Mór entered the chamber. “For one who has been pleasured so often and noisily, you look less than pleased,” Mór observed, sitting down beside her.

  “I offered that brute power beyond his dreams, yet he turned me down!” Maeve snapped. “Why are men so fickle?”

  “That is a mystery even the Druids have yet to fathom,” Mór said with a snort. “He must have been good!” she added, licking her lips.

  Maeve dropped her mirror onto her lap and sighed. “Oh, gods, yes, he was!”

  “You shouldn’t be hard on him,” Mór said in a soft tone. “He needs to be educated, is all. It could be the quest for the cauldron is outweighing all other considerations; such has happened before.”

  “And if he gains the cauldron, he’ll disappear over the ocean to the land of the Susadi, and never return to warm my bed.”

  “So lay a geas on him,” Mór said. “You’re queen, you have the power. Would you really give up such a wondrous item so easily, dangerous though it is?”

  “A geas,” Maeve said and nodded slowly. She looked down at the Druidess. “And how should it be worded?”

  “Tell him he may seek out the cauldron and take it for the Susadi, but he may only do so if he forswears all other loyalties afterward and returns to your side.”

  The reply rolled off Mór’s tongue, she having decided the wording after careful consideration in the last hour before the queen awoke. She hoped the queen hadn’t noticed how glib her reply had been.

  Maeve hadn’t. She was nodding, a trace of a smile lighting her face. “It’s an excellent suggestion! Only I have the word that will reveal the tower to him, and I can forbid it to him unless he accepts the geas. It means so much to him, he’ll have no choice.”

  “Then so mote it be,” Mór said with satisfaction.

  * * * * *

  Kate and Matt were waiting with trepidation as the queen emerged from her chamber, looking tall and regal in a fine blue robe, a circlet of fresh green leaves about her brow. Red and green should ne’er be seen, except on the head of an Irish queen! Kate thought, remembering the old saw. And Maeve looked every inch the queen. Giving Matt’s sleeve a quick tug to prompt him, she bowed to Maeve as she sat on her throne.

  “So, Katherine of the Susadi ‑‑ and Matt O’Brien,” she said, favouring each with a cool look. “You seek to gain the Cauldron of Fire that you may take it over the sea to your land.”

  “We do, O Queen,” Matt said, straightening up and speaking in a clear voice.

  “Many have tried, and all have failed,” Maeve said. “Only the very best will ever succeed. Have you the confidence in your mission?”

  “We do, Majesty.”

  “So be it.” Maeve paused. “The Cauldron of Fire is kept in the tower of Moygara, overlooking Lough Gara. An ordinary man could cross the spot a thousand and one times and never find it. The tower only appears to tho
se of royal blood or those to whom I give a secret word. Even then the bold adventurer has another, greater hurdle to cross ‑‑ there is a guardian.”

  “What is the nature of this guardian?” Matt asked. His expression was pained; Kate sensed he knew the answer wouldn’t be good, and she thought of the ogre Fergus had told her about.

  “It’s a giant, one of the last of the Firbolgs who once ruled this land. He is bound to the tower by magic to protect the cauldron. To gain the treasure, you must fight and slay the giant.”

  “Oh, brother!” Kate sighed. “Why are these things never guarded by a ninety-pound wimp?”

  “Nothing worthwhile ever comes easily,” Matt said, and Maeve nodded with a grim smile on her lips. “Very well, Majesty, we must still complete our quest. What is the word we need?”

  Her eyes bored into Matt. “I will give you the word, on one condition.”

  He looked sideways at Kate, who shrugged and nodded with reluctance. “And that is, Your Majesty?”

  “You may have the word, on acceptance of a geas. Once the cauldron is in your possession you, Matt O’Brien, shall return to my side, to be my man forever!”

  “Oh fuck!” Kate said under her breath.

  They had been given leave to talk over the proposal. Kate sat cross-legged, her back against the outside wall of the queen’s hall, and glared at Matt. “I think I overdid the power of that spell!” she growled. “You’ve made a hell of an impression on her!”

  “Maybe you did,” he said, lying on his back and staring up at the clouds, a straw between his teeth. He would’ve fooled anyone else into thinking he was relaxed, but she could see his agitation in the way he chewed the end of the stem and twirled it between his lips. “Maybe it was my own sexual prowess that persuaded her she was onto a good thing.”

  “So tell me what this geas is,” she said, ignoring the boast. “I got the feeling I’d heard the term somewhere before.”