The stranger laughed. It was a harsh sound and totally devoid of any humour.

`Don't tell me where my business lies, farmer! I'll come and go as I please. My men and I serve Balsennis, the mighty god of destruction and chaos. And he's decided that it's time your village paid him tribute.'

A buzz of recognition went round the marketplace as he spoke the name Balsennis. They had heard Tennyson warn of this dark and evil spirit, heard him blame the god for the reign of lawlessness and terror that was sweeping Clonmel.

Several more of the town watchmen had thrust their way through the crowd. They had obviously armed themselves in haste and most of them carried makeshift weapons. They formed up in an uneven line behind the first two. There were ten of them. If their intent was to discourage the stranger with their numbers, they were doomed to failure. He laughed again.

`That's what you have to oppose me? A dozen of you, armed with sharp sticks and sickles? Get out of my way, farmer! I've got eighty armed fighting men in the trees here. If you choose to resist, we'll kill every man, woman and child in the village, and then take what we want. Drop your weapons and we might spare some of you! I'll give you ten seconds to think it over.'

Halt leaned closer to Horace and said in a low tone: 'If you wanted to frighten people with your overwhelming numbers, would you keep them hidden in the forest?'

Horace frowned. He had been thinking much the same thing. 'If I had eighty men, I think I'd show them. A show of force like that would be more frightening than simply talking about them.'

`So the odds are,' Halt said, 'that he's bluffing about having eighty men.'

`Probably. But he's still got the watchmen outnumbered. I can count at least twenty men in the trees. Of course,' he added, 'the village can probably muster more men given time. Those dozen out there are just the ones on duty at the moment.'

`Exactly. So why give them time, as he's doing now?' `Time's nearly up, farmer! Make up your mind. Stand aside or die!'

There was a bustle of movement within the crowd and Halt looked in the direction it was coming from. He nodded slowly.

`Ah. I thought something like this might happen.'

Horace followed his gaze and saw the burly, white-robed figure of Tennyson pushing through to the front of the crowd. He was followed by half a dozen of his acolytes. back. At the same time, the outlaws began to advance

Tennyson stood firm. He turned and said a quiet word tongue. Tennyson raised his long staff and pointed it at the line of advancing bandits.

The intruders continued to advance. Then the singers ibration that seemed to pulse and throb eerily. Tennyson threw up their free hands as if to ward off a physical blow. called a halt and his choir fell silent.

– Z05 -

– 204 -

Horace recognised them as the group who had been singing earlier in the day, two women and four men. him. More of them emerged from the trees,

Strangely, for such a threatening situation, there was no drawn. sign of Tennyson's usual giant retainers.

The white-robed priest strode purposefully out to stand his six followers. Instantly, they dropped to their knees between the watchmen and the bandit chief. He carried a semicircle around him, facing the outlaws, and began his staff, with the unusual double circle emblem of the sing. The words of their song were in some foreign

Outsiders at its head. His voice, deep and sonorous, carried clearly to all in the market ground.

`Be warned, stranger! This village is under the protec-I tion of Alseiass, the Golden God of friendship.' a strange and discordant harmony – a strident sound

The bandit laughed once more. But this time there was rang in the air, the overtones setting up a harmonic genuine amusement in his voice. at do we have here? A fat man with another stick?now raised his staff high in the air and his singers held the Pardon me while I tremble in fead'note, swelling the volume.

As he spoke, some of his men emerged from the trees effect was instantaneous. The leading bandit and moved to forma line behind him. There were perhaps and staggered backwards, as if struck by some fifteen of them in all. They joined in his laughter an called force. His men also seemed to lose the use of their insults and curses at Tennyson. The burly priest stood unflinching, his nisearms spread out wide. When he spoke again, I ag, his voice drowned out the catcalls and insults.They cried out in pain and fear. give you warning. You and your false god cannot choir paused for breath, then sang the same chord stand against the power of Alseiass! ass! Leave now or suffer

If once more, even louder this time, as Tennyson gestured the consequences! I call on Alseiass you will know pain them to rise to their feet. With the invisible barrier such as you have never felt.' priest, of the chord preceding them, they began to advance

`Well, p, if I take my sword to your fat hide, you'll I hide, the staggering, disorganised bandits. know some pain yourself!' was too much. The intruders, their spirit broken,

The bandit drew his sword. His followers did likewise, and fled in terror and confusion, staggering and the rasp of steel sounding across the field. The dozen into one another as they ran back into the trees. watchmen, who were slightly behind Tennyson, began to the last of them disappeared into the shadows, move forward, but the priest signalled for them to sta

r, fll 1 hl it limbs, staggering and blundering in wild circles. Some

Now the priest turned back to the people of Mountshannon, who had watched open-mouthed with awe as he drove the intruders off. He smiled at them, holding both his arms wide as if to embrace them.

`People of Mountshannon, give praise to the god Alseiass who has saved us this day!' he boomed.

And the spell was broken as the villagers streamed forward to surround him, calling out his name and the name of his god. He stood among them, smiling and blessing them as they swarmed around him, seeking to kneel before him, to touch him, to shout his name and to thank him.

Halt and Horace stood back and exchanged a glance. Horace scratched his chin thoughtfully.

`Funny,' he said, 'those bandits were completely disabled. That strange chord hit them like a ton of bricks, didn't it?'

`It certainly seemed to,' Halt agreed.

`Yet I couldn't help noticing…' Horace went on. `They were staggering and suffering and terrified and completely disoriented by the whole thing. But not one of them dropped his sword.'

Chapter 25

Will kept Tug moving at a steady lope throughout the day. It wasn't the Rangers' forced march pace, but it ate up the distance on the road to Mountshannon and he knew Tug would keep up the pace as long as he was asked.

He also knew that he would probably reach the village after Driscoll had put on what he had referred to as his `show'. Even though he was mounted, the ridge road was long and circuitous and the thirty-man raiding party had far less distance to cover on the lower road they were following.

He was becoming convinced that there would be no attack as such. The bandits were planning a thrust at Mountshannon, but for what purpose he wasn't yet sure. Driscoll had referred to a 'holy man' and Will assumed that was Tennyson. He wasn't sure where the preacher fitted into the overall plan, nor what role he would play. But it was becoming increasingly obvious that the real attack would be on Craikennis the following day.

He reached Mountshannon in the middle of the afternoon. As he passed the guard post by the bridge, Will raised his eyebrows when he saw it was deserted. So were the streets of Mountshannon. For a moment, he feared the worst. But as he rode in, he heard a good deal of noise coming from the other end of the village. Singing, shouting, laughing.