The H. Bedford-Jones Pulp Fiction Megapack

by H. Bedford-Jones

  Brian paused in no little astonishment, and stole a glance aside to see old Turlough crossing himself fervently. It struck his mind that he had chanced on some sorcery here, and, remembering the tales he had heard of the Dark Master’s work, he laughed a little and settled down. He was minded to see what this thing might be; but he made his pistol ready in case the magic told O’Donnell of his danger.

  “It is some great man,” came the Dark Master’s voice again. “There is something broidered on his— By my soul, it is the Red Hand of Tyr-owen! It is The O’Neill himself—the earl— Is Yellow Brian of his blood, then?”

  At hearing this Brian crouched closer, in some fear and more wonder. Was the Dark Master in reality seeing such figures in that water-bowl? Then the man must be either mad or—or figures were there. Now O’Donnell’s voice rose stronger:

  “Which of these twain stands now in my way? It is not Yellow Brian. Ah, the earl is slipping away, and the woman is smiling. One of his loves, belike, for he had many; she is fair, wondrous fair! Ah, what’s this?”

  Brian saw the dark figure crouch lower, as if in astonishment.

  “Changing, changing! Is it this woman who stands in my way, then? Toothless and grinning, crouched low over a stick, rags and tatters and wisps of gray hair—”

  The Dark Master paused in his jerky speech, stiffened as if in wild amazement at that which he beheld, and a sudden cry broke from him, sharp and awestruck:

  “The Black Woman!”

  Then Brian straightened up, feeling Turlough’s hand touch his; but for a space he stood silent while his mind cast out for what the Dark Master’s words meant.

  In a flash it came to him. Through some black dealings O’Donnell had in truth pictured The O’Neill in that bowl, and with him a woman he had loved and who loved him; and this was no other than she whom Brian had known as the Black Woman, now become an old hag indeed, with only the memories of her fair youth and her love behind her. And this was why she had recognized him and why she had evidently watched over him since that first meeting, out of the love she had borne the earl, his grandsire, in days now buried under many bitter years.

  The two men looked into each other’s eyes, and Brian saw that Turlough’s jaw had dropped loosely, and that fright had stricken the old man almost out of his senses. With that Brian felt his own fear take wings. He laughed a little as his grip closed on the haft of his ax, and the cold star-glint seemed to shine back again from his eyes.

  “Bide here if you will,” he smiled quietly. “I have my work to do.”

  And, turning with the word, he strode quickly to the door, just as there came a great cry from within the place.

  CHAPTER XVI

  BRIAN GETS HIS SWORD AGAIN

  Brian pushed the door open, and it gave easily to his fist. Gazing within he saw the Dark Master standing over the shattered bowl, whose liquid flowed down toward the hearth and hissed on the embers; plainly, the Dark Master had seen nothing good in that water, for he had shattered the bowl with his foot, and his teeth were snarling under his drooping mustache.

  “I am come,” said Brian, laughing grimly as he stood in the doorway.

  O’Donnell whirled, gripping at his sword.

  Now, whether there was magic on the place, as Turlough ever swore, or whether the opening of the door had made a draft, as Brian thought more likely, a strange thing happened.

  Brian had raised his pistol in his left hand, meaning to kill the Dark Master without pity in that first moment. Out of the hearth came a great swirl of ashes and red embers, flying toward the door and closing around O’Donnell; as Brian pressed the trigger the ashes smote him in a blinding swirl, and a harsh laugh answered the roar of the pistol.

  With a curse Brian cleared his eyes of the light ash and reached with his ax at the dim figure of the Dark Master, nigh hid with ashes and powder-smoke. From down the vale came other shots and cries, and he knew his men had struck on that small camp lying there; but at this O’Donnell gave him other things to think of.

  That was a great fight, for Brian was little used to ax-play and had much ado to parry the keen thrusts of his own Spanish blade; the roof was too low to give room for a swing, and when the Dark Master had lunged him back to the door again, he knew that he had done ill. So with another bitter curse Brian flung the ax from his hand and ripped out the long, Irish dagger that hung at his girdle.

  For all his wrath he had taken good heed to fling the ax aright, and the broad flat of it took the Dark Master full in the chest and bore him back, reeling and shouting for his men. Before he could recover Brian leaped at him, caught O’Donnell’s sword wrist in his left hand, and aimed a deadly stroke with his skean.

  The blow went true, but the steel turned aside from the Dark Master’s mail-shirt; O’Donnell caught his wrist in turn, and there the two stood heaving each at the other for a long minute. Brian’s eyes struck cold and hard into the evil features of the Dark Master; the other’s breath came hot on his cheeks, and so beastlike was the man’s face that Brian half expected those snarling teeth to close snapping at his throat. But the Dark Master was strong, for all his hunched shoulders.

  Then a great flame of vengeance seemed to cleave Brian’s soul, and with a curt laugh he threw out his strength and flung the Dark Master back bodily so that he fell into the hearth and burst the mud chimney and the thatched wall behind. Before he could rise again Brian had whipped out his other pistol and fired; he saw the man’s figure writhe aside, then up through the powder-smoke rose a burning brand that smote him over the brow heavily. At the same instant the scattered sparks caught the thatch, and the whole house broke into flame.

  Brian’s eyes found the dark figure once more and he rushed forward. At the broken heap of mud from the chimney his feet struck on the sword, which had fallen from the Dark Master’s hand, and he caught it up with a cry of joy and bore forward.

  That brief instant of delay lost him his quarry, however. Brian flung through the shattered wall, with the whole structure flaming up behind him; he saw a dark figure on the snow and ran at it, only to find himself striking at Turlough Wolf, and stayed his hand barely in time.

  “Where is he?” he panted hoarsely, looking around with fierce eyes.

  Then he caught the Dark Master’s figure running across the snow toward that camp amid the trees, where fighting was still forward and men were shouting and firing. Brian rushed off, with Turlough staggering after him; but with a sob of despairing anger he saw the Dark Master flit into the trees, and heard his voice ringing at his men.

  It turned out afterward that Brian’s fifty men, weary and chilled, had made a somewhat heartless assault on the score of horsemen camped in the trees; therefore, instead of carrying O’Donnell’s men off their feet and cutting them down straightway, they were held off for a little.

  The Dark Master knew that he was lost if he stayed long in that place, however, and when Brian reached the clump of trees he found that he was too late. With two or three men behind him, O’Donnell had cut through Brian’s men and was galloping away. Brian groaned savagely, leaped at a mounted man and dragged him from the saddle, and was just springing up when Turlough caught and stayed him.

  “Wait, master!” panted the old man in desperate fear of the surging men around him, but in more desperate fear for Brian. “This is madness, for I ordered our fifty horses fetched around—”

  “Bide here for them, then!” said Brian, and swung up into the saddle. One of the Dark Master’s men barred his way, and Brian’s blade went through his throat; then he was off after the four figures who by now were far distant toward the dark forest that swallowed up the valley ahead.

  The cold night air cleared his brain, however, and after a moment he drew rein with bitterness upon him. Turlough had spoken rightly, for to ride after those four men with his naked sword alone was in truth madness. So he came back again to where the last of the hemmed-in horsemen was being cut out of his saddle, and when his men gathered about him with a shout,
his tongue gave them little joy.

  “You are fools,” he said harshly, “for the Dark Master has escaped us. Take these horses, fifteen of you, and ride. Let five men go to bring in our horses with all speed, and let ten more scatter out in search of our hundred men. These are not more than two miles distant, and in an hour I must ride from here. See to it that you return with the men and horses by then, or shift for yourselves.”

  “That is too much,” spoke out a burly fellow angrily. “We have been climbing all day, and have——”

  Brian said no word, but leaned down from his saddle and his Spanish blade flickered in the light. The man fell and lay quiet, while the others drew back in black fear.

  “I am master here,” said Brian coldly, when a long instant had passed. “Go.”

  There was no more muttering among his recruits, either then or later. He dismounted, saw that the O’Donnells had been slain to the last man, and joined Turlough at the campfire. Food and drink had been found in the camp, and a flagon of wine heartened Brian greatly.

  “Now give me your rede, Turlough Wolf,” he said. “I have failed in this matter, and it seems that ill shall come of it.”

  “So I foretold, master, but we may still remedy the ill if we catch O’Donnell. I think that by now his horsemen are scattered, and this burning hut will draw our own men thither. Before midnight they will be here, and we can ride forth. I think that the Dark Master will gather what men are left him and strike down for Galway.”

  “Two men may ride the same road,” quoth Brian grimly, and set his naked blade in his belt. He saw that before him lay some fighting and much hard riding, so inside the next hour he had his men full-fed. Before this was finished the spare horses and those of his men came in, for Turlough had ordered them to start at noon and ride around in case of need.

  Brian determined to spare neither men nor horseflesh on that riding, and when his men were mounted he set out across the night to meet his hundred, and to hear what had been done at the camp two miles distant. As the moon was rising he met them; and if he was glad at the meeting, they were twice glad.

  They had found the camp and had lain off it until after dark as Turlough had bidden them, the more so since there were two-score over a hundred men there. But at length they had ridden down as if they were fresh come from the north, and had twice ridden through the camp before the O’Donnells were well awake, though it had been sharp work. The result had been that a score of Brian’s men had fallen, they had slain a full half of the O’Donnells, and the rest had been driven and scattered southward. Brian’s men had plundered their camp and were weary, so that when they heard of what had chanced at the Black Tarn they were somewhat less than half willing to ride farther.

  But Brian speedily persuaded them to that course, and Turlough led them all to the south on the way to Sligo.

  Bitterness and heaviness of heart dwelt deep in Brian that night, and for some time to come. With the escape of the Dark Master, whether it had been by magic or craft, all his visions had burst; he must ride away from the pirate hold at Millhaven, he saw that he would lose many men on his way south, and yet there lay no choice before him. He had scotched the snake, and now he must kill it. If the Dark Master reached Galway town in safety, those O’Donnells from Millhaven would be around by sea to meet him, and the royalists would lend him men and guns to go against Bertragh in their cause.

  “Is there any likelihood that the Dark Master will miss those scattered men of his?” he asked Turlough, who rode on his right hand.

  “Little, master. There is but the one road south to Sligo at this season, and it is great wonder indeed that the scattered men did not fall on us at the Black Tarn in seeking their master. But with only seventy-five men or so I do not think they will bide our coming.”

  “Nor do I,” and Brian laughed grimly as he thought of that fight with his enemy.

  Certain men had been wounded in those frays, and he left them to follow after him, so that he turned south with a hundred and a score men at his back. He did not think that the Dark Master would face him, but since those men were all O’Donnells who would obey him utterly, he looked to have some fighting; in which he was not far wrong.

  An hour after the day was broken they thundered up to the bridge that spanned the Garravogue, and ten wild and silent men were holding that bridge behind an overturned cart for barricade. Brian would waste no men on a storm, but slew six of the men with musketry and rode over the other four; even so, those four brought down three of his men before they were done with.

  Brian baited the horses in Sligo, remaining there a scant half-hour. From the townfolk he learned that the Dark Master was but two hours ahead of him, and Brian had great hopes of running him to earth that same day. So he set forth again and they rode hard to Ballsadare, at the south branch of Sligo Bay, and on to Coolany at the edge of the Storm Mountains.

  At this latter place they found different work, however, for here was a small garrison of Cavan pikemen who stopped them, lined with their pikes three deep across the road before the church. Brian was no long time in learning that the Dark Master had spread word of him as a plunderer and Parliament man.

  “I have no time to waste on you,” he said shortly to the leader of the pikemen. “Here is a safe-conduct, and I am Stephen Burke.”

  “None the less, you must stay until I have looked into this,” said the other, pulling out his pistol with some determination.

  “Stay I will not, but I think you shall,” replied Brian, and thrust as the man fired. The bullet glanced from his jack, but the officer fell back among his pikes, and Brian spurred after him in great anger. His Scots troopers were in the van, or what was left of them, and they came down galloping, and rode over the pikemen leaving a sea of smitten men in the roadway behind.

  Also, ten of Brian’s men were left.

  By the evening they were back at Tobercurry again, where Turlough had hung those two men after torturing them. The Dark Master was something over an hour ahead of them, and he had stayed to fire the church and the town. Brian’s heart was sore for the townfolk, but he could pause no longer than to bait horses and men, since he looked for hard riding that night; however, he gave what money and plunder he had to the townfolk and got a blessing in return, and so rode forth again as the stars peeped out.

  “There are Maguires in Swineford, master,” said old Turlough with a cunning, sidelong look.

  “I met them coming north,” laughed Brian softly. “They will prove good men to avoid, so I think that we shall ride around that burg.”

  Brian thought that he could get through the Maguires, but he intended to take no chances. However, they had gained to within five miles of Swineford and had halted to blow the horses, when one of the scouts came riding back to say that a score of farmers with three carts were approaching from the town.

  Presently they came on them—a black mass swinging down the road, which was very boggy on either hand. Neither Brian nor Turlough smelt any ill in this until they were within a hundred paces of the party, when suddenly the carts were swung across the road and a score of muskets spat death into Brian’s men.

  “Back!” shouted Brian, when his men would have charged. “We have no time and lives to waste on this party—what shall we do, Turlough? The fields are all bog.”

  “We cannot well ride around,” said Turlough, when they had ridden back a little, leaving dead men on the road. “But a little way back is a path that leads out and around Swineford. Put ten men here to keep these O’Donnells from following us, and we will make a short cut to the Moy near Kiltanmugh. It was a clever trick, this!”

  It was indeed, and it had cost Brian a round score of men, so that he followed Turlough out into the open land with less than a hundred men behind him. His fury abated before dawn, when they had splashed across the Moy and came upon the road once more, but he saw that the O’Donnells were willing enough to die if the Dark Master might escape, and he became more cautious.

  When th
e night fell again they were far south of Claremorris, but a score of horses had foundered and he was forced to leave more men behind. Until evening Turlough led him at a distance from the main roads, then they struck into good riding again and save for one detour to avoid Tuam would have a clear road between themselves and Galway, which Brian meant to reach before dawn unless his own horse foundered with the rest.

  Of the Dark Master they heard nothing until they were fording the Clare north of Tuam, when two men gave them word that a scant half-hour before some two-score horsemen had fled past them toward Tuam.

  “Good!” cried Brian. “Now, Turlough, lead us around Tuam, and I think we shall finish this thing long before the day comes.”

  Said Turlough sourly, “Every horse down is a man gone, master,” but to that Brian only laughed and set in his spurs.

  So now they let gallop through the darkness, trusting more to Turlough’s wits than to their horses’ feet; for Brian knew that if his own beasts were spent, those of the Dark Master were no better unless he were to get mounts at Tuam. That would be hard, however, for there were no horses to be had save far in the mountains where the war had not swept all things away.

  No sooner had they reached the road again beyond Tuam than it seemed to Brian that he heard the faint drum of hoofs ahead of him, and at that he gave a shout and drove on with such of his men storming behind as might come. Many of them had gone down, indeed, but now all wakened from their nodding sleep and kept close, though here and there one dropped out. Turlough, whose steed had been the best of all save Brian’s, kept at his master’s flank.

  They were hard on Claregalway when Brian saw his quarry first—a deep mass of men far ahead on an open stretch of road. Then he knew that the race was nearly won, and for all that his beast was sobbing under his thighs, he raced ahead, and laughed out loud when a little band cut off from the main body of the Dark Master’s men. There were fifteen or less who waited his coming with pistols ready, but Brian rode hardily at them, their balls whistled overhead or past, and he was on them.