Free The King of Sleep by Caiseal Mor Page B

xmequaled among the people of the Gaedhal.”
    Méaraigh bowed his head in acceptance of this praise as he rested once again on his friend’s back.
    â€œThe Druids will sing songs about these war-carts, expounding on the fearsome appearance, the courage of their drivers, the skill of the makers and the swiftness of the conquest.”
    â€œThe conquest?” Máel Máedóc cut in with a gasp. “What conquest?”
    Eber Finn turned to the Druid sharply and squinted. He had rightly expected some opposition from the old man. His kind were masters of words, music and law. They rarely condoned the practice of war.
    â€œWhat do you think of this chariot, Máel Máedóc?” the king demanded before the Druid could repeat his question. “Have I not spoken the truth? Is it not magnificent?”
    The old Druid smiled when he realized the trap Eber had set for him. If he spoke out against this scheme now he risked offending both Méaraigh the blacksmith and Tuargain the chariot-builder.
    â€œI have never seen the likes of such a war-cart,” Máel Máedóc nodded. “Truly there will be songs sung about this first chariot and the deeds performed in it. I am certain all folk will remember the glorious battles fought in its name.”
    There was something in his tone that caught the two craftsmen by surprise. Both men frowned, catching the hint of a deeper message in the Druid’s words.
    â€œIn the generations to come all the people of the Gaedhal will tell the tale of King Eber’s new warcart,” Máel Máedóc went on, realizing he had their full attention. “The Bards will speak of the destructionwhich spread under its wheels fashioned of strong iron-bound oak. With honor they will list the enemies who fled before it on the battlefield. With respect they will recite the names of the brave fallen who perished in battles yet to come.”
    The craftsmen both showed a measure of unease as they considered these words.
    â€œThere will be much joy and also weeping over this weapon, the first of many to be made,” Máel Máedóc concluded. “And above all the folk of future generations will remember the names Tuargain and Méaraigh, the craftsmen who constructed Eber’s chariot. You will be known as the two men without whom no battles could have been contemplated.”
    The king turned his lips up in a strained smile. There was a hint of admiration for the old Druid’s wordcraft in the gesture. But Eber wasn’t about to let such a biting criticism go unchecked. The king turned slowly to his adviser and his smile deepened.
    â€œDo you have an objection to the building of these chariots?” he demanded gently, his soft, firm voice indicating that he wouldn’t tolerate dissension. “Why didn’t you speak up at the Council of Chieftains when you had the chance?”
    â€œI had no pressing reservations at that time,” Máel Máedóc replied, mirroring the king’s tone.
    â€œAnd now?”
    The old Druid glanced toward the two waiting craftsmen, then caught Eber’s gaze. The king immediately understood his counselor’s silent suggestionthat this was a matter best discussed in private.
    Eber nodded. Then with smooth confidence he took Tuargain by the shoulder and put his arm about Méaraigh the blacksmith. “You’ve both done very well,” he told them with a laugh. “So I wish to gift you each with a cow chosen by my husbandman from the royal herd. You shall each have a fine healthy beast recently arrived from our homeland. They are strong animals and will bear many offspring.”
    Both men hummed in appreciation and took Eber by the hand in gratitude. A cow was of immeasurable value as a source of milk, and animals from the royal herd were much prized as breeding stock. This was a gift which carried great honor that would pass down the generations with each new