Chapter 20 #3
Magnus cast a bleary glare at his father.
He raised his leather flagon high. "Hail, the conquering hero returns!
Tell me, Father, are you pleased with what you have done?
If Fintan himself had risen from the grave and marched into your fortress, Glenfluirse could not have given him a more joyous welcome. "
Jaw clenched with disgust, Conn stalked over to his son, knocking the flagon from Magnus's grasp with a knotted fist. "You think all this matters?
" he demanded, gesturing to the slit in the stone through which the sounds of the revels rang.
"Did I not promise you that if you had half the courage of Ronan's son, all of Glenfluirse would be yours? "
"And how could I hold it? Did you see those accursed fools flocking about Niall? They would not suffer me to be tainist now."
“Who could blame them, looking at you now, you drunken fool?” Conn sneered. “Yet, even though you do not deserve my help I will give it to you. You are my son, though the gods know I can scarce believe anything so useless could spring from my loins."
Magnus drew back his fist, but even in his drunken haze, he did not have the courage to swing at his tormentor. Conn smirked. "You would make a pitiful chieftain, it is true. But the people would forgive almost any weakness to have the blood of Fintan rule over them."
"Fintan? The spear caster is dead, may he rot!"
"But his daughter lives. The most beautiful woman in Ireland, some say. Bind the wench to you as your wife, and no man would dare speak against your rule."
Magnus's eyes cleared just a little, and Conn could almost feel his son scrambling to gather what few wits he had not drowned in mead. "That may be so... but that cur Niall—"
"Will be dead. You, my son, will kill him."
Magnus caught his breath, a dart of fear in his eyes. "You are mad! No man in Glenfluirse could defeat Niall!"
"You think I expect you to challenge him face-to-face like a man?" Conn laughed. "Do not be absurd. We are not bound by his code of honor, you and I. I had planned another death for my foster son, hoped to make it look as if Niall had fallen on his own sword."
Magnus snorted. "Why would he do such a thing? All of Glenfluirse grovels at his feet."
"Exactly. Which is why we must manage things another way. This is how it will be done. A philter slipped into Niall's cup while he is celebrating."
"Poison?" Magnus asked hopefully. "Aye! It is a masterful plan!"
"It is not so easy as you believe, my son. All of Ireland would suspect treachery if Niall of the Seven Betrayals, my champion, dropped dead at the banquet table. We shall have to be more subtle. You must prove yourself worthy to be my heir."
"But how—"
"We will use something that takes its effect slowly weighing him down like the onset of a sickness.
When Niall feels the exhaustion begin to overtake him, he will retire to his chamber.
You will slip from the great hall, steal in, and kill him.
But you must do so before the evidence of the poison is written across his face. "
Magnus's eyes widened in fear. "But he is most skilled. What if—"
"He will be weak as a newborn babe. I will make certain the potion is strong enough so that even you can kill him."
Magnus flinched as if Conn lashed him across the face.
"Come, my son, tell me, how many times have you imagined this in your dreams?
Your sword piercing Niall's flesh, his eyes round as he sees his death in your eyes, his blood gushing hot over your hand.
Finally the cur that stole the prize portion belonging to you will pay for his insolence. We will make him pay, you and I."
"But every eye would turn to me if Niall is cut down. All Glenfluirse knows how I hate him."
Conn smiled as his son regarded him with the special dread accorded a sorcerer, wavering, wavering. "Do you believe your own father would put you in danger? You kill Niall. Trust me to arrange the rest. No one else in Glenfluirse will ever know that it was you who dealt Niall death."
"But how? I do not understand."
"You will make it look as if it were an accident.
After all, a man everyone believes is in his cups often slips, falls.
It is possible he could injure himself with his own sword, is it not?
No man could prove that Niall was murdered after you drive Niall's own sword through the wound you have made in his body.
Only you and I... we will know the truth, will we not, my son? "
It was a lure that a far stronger man would have been powerless to resist, the soft, secretive purr in Conn's voice, the slyness of his smile. Magnus wavered. Surrendered. He rose to his feet, bracing himself upright with the edge of a shattered bench.
"I will do it," Magnus vowed as Conn always knew he would. "Let the betrayer's son die."
Conn peered into the face of his firstborn, a twinge of guilt in his gut. "This is one grim truth any chieftain must accept," Conn said, his voice edged with regret. "Death is often necessary to safeguard his rule."
Sometimes even the death of the chieftain's own son...