Free Celtic Tales of Enchantment by Liam Mac Uistin Page B

down with deadly purpose. Then, at the last second, Draoiantóir jerked back and the blade whistled harmlessly past Conán’s left shoulder.
    No one was more surprised than Conán to find that he still had his head. With both hands he felt around his neck as though only by touching the muscle and skin could he really believe that he was still alive. Finally, he looked at the giant, his face a mixture of relief and suspition. ‘What kind of cruel trick is this?’ he asked.
    â€˜Trick?’ the magician replied.‘You are the one with the tricks. I see your plan now. You fooled me into healing your wounds so that I would give you the honourable death you desired. But I’m not going to. I am going to make you my slave. We will see how a Fianna warrior enjoys being a lowly servant!’ His lips twisted in an evil grin.
    â€˜No! Kill him now!’ Ailne screamed.
    â€˜Not until I have had my fun with him,’ Draoiantóir insisted. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can always chop his head off if I find that he is not satisfactory.’
    Ailne stamped her foot in fury and ran from the dungeon. The giant called to Conán to follow him upstairs.

    Fionn could not believe it when he saw Conán obey the magician. How could he willingly serve an enemy of the Fianna? Where was his honour? He was about to shout out a reprimand to Conán, but he thought it would be best not to provoke the giant further while he and his comrades still had their heads on their shoulders.
    Conán stopped at the top of the stairs and gasped like a bellows to get more breath into his lungs.
    The giant turned and glared at him. ‘Hurry up!’
    â€˜Although my wounds are healed,’ Conán said to him, ‘I am still very weak from the spell you put on me and my former comrades. I cannot work hard for you unless you free me from the enchantment.’
    â€˜I will give you a drink from the golden drinking-horn,’ Draoiantóir said. ‘Then you will be strong enough to carry out the duties of ten servants.’
    They went into the kitchen where Glanluadh and Ailne were sitting. Glanluadh looked up fearfully, afraid of what news the giant might bring about the fate of her husband and the other captives. ‘Hand me the drinking-horn,’ Draoiantóir said to his sister. ‘This slave of mine is still weak from the spell and a drink from it will restore his strength.’
    â€˜Is that wise?’ Ailne asked. ‘I shall not feel safe with a member of the Fianna about the place.’
    â€˜He is no longer one of that treacherous band,’ the giant declared. ‘He serves me now. As for the others, I shall go back and slay them all as soon as I have removed the spell from my servant.’
    â€˜The sooner the better,’ Ailne smiled. ‘I shall feel a lot happier when you have finally chopped off their heads.’
    She gave the drinking-horn to her brother, who handed it to Conán. ‘Drink!’ the giant ordered.
    Conán took a deep draught of the golden liquid from the horn and was instantly restored to his full strength.

    Down in the dungeon, Dara, who had a very fine melodious voice, began to sing one of Fionn’s favourite songs, in order to raise his leader’s spirits.
    Draoiantóir heard the sweet music from below. Enchanted by the sound, the giant moved to the open door, forgetting that Conán still held the magical drinking-horn. As if in a trance, Draoiantóir moved down the stairs towards the source of the singing.
    Conán saw his chance. He turned his back on Ailne and hid the drinking-horn under his tunic. ‘I had better follow my master,’ he said, leaving the kitchen and going down to the dungeon.
    He moved quietly through the open door and stood behind Draoiantóir, who was listening intently to Dara’s song. Conán sneezed suddenly and the giant swung around.
    â€˜What are you doing here?’ he