Nuala O'Malley Part 17

But the giant had not heard him. Throwing back his head, he gave one deep groan of anguish, and his shoulders began to move very slowly as his chest heaved up. All the while his eyes were fixed on the Dark Master, while the whole hall watched him in awe; not even Brian or O'Donnell himself guessed what that slow movement of Cathbarr's body boded.

"Best put chains upon him, Murrough," said the Dark Master, his teeth s.h.i.+ning under his drooping mustache.

Vere cried out in sudden wonder.

"'Fore Gad! Look!"

Then indeed the Dark Master looked, and sprang to his feet, and one great shout of alarm and fear shrilled up from those watching. For as Cathbarr stood there, the veins had suddenly come out on his face and neck, and with a dull sound the ropes had broken on his arms, and he was free.

Murrough rushed forward, and his pistol spat fire. Cathbarr, with his eyes still on the Dark Master, put out a hand and Murrough went whirling away with a dull groan. Then the giant rushed.

O'Donnell did not stay for that meeting, but slipped away like a shadow into his surging men, yelling at them to fire. There were few muskets in the hall, however, and an instant later Cathbarr had reached the table where Vere still sat astounded. He brought down a fist on the royalist's steel cap, and Vere coughed horribly and fell out of his chair with his skull crushed.

Now a musket roared out, and another. But Cathbarr caught up the oaken table and faced around on the men who were surging forward at him; lifting the ten-foot table as though it were paper, he bellowed something and rushed at them, casting the table in a great heave. It fell squarely on the front rank, and then indeed fear came upon the hall. For Cathbarr's foot had struck against his ax, and he rose with it in his hand.

There was a din of screams and shouts, for half the men were struggling to get out of the hall and the rest were rus.h.i.+ng to get at Cathbarr.

Another musket crashed, and in the smoke Brian saw the giant stagger, recover, and go bellowing into the crowd.

Brian struggled from the table, groaned with pain, and then stood watching. He could walk, but his weakness and the chains on his wrists and ankles hindered him from being of any advantage to Cathbarr, though he lifted his voice in a shout of encouragement.

Cathbarr heard the shout, and roared out with delight. A musket-ball had cut across his forehead, and with the blood dripping from his beard he looked more like a demon than a man. The huge ax flashed in the smoky light, and before it men groaned and shrieked and gave back; it cleaved steel and flesh, or smashed helms and heads together, and the Dark Master had slipped from the place, so that his men had no leader.

Over the roar of fear-mad men, over the storm of shrieks and shouts, over the dust and smoke, rose the mighty bellow of Cathbarr and the thudding blows of his ax. The royalist officers were fighting around the doorway, while O'Donnell's men were trying to make head against the giant, but he swept through them like a whirlwind, awing them more by his ferocious aspect and his mad rage than by the half-seen effect of his terrific strength.

Little by little they eddied out from the door. Men lay all about, tables were overturned, and through the crowd swirled the terrible ax, leaving a path of dead in its wake. Brian staggered to the motionless form of Colonel Vere, and reaching down drew a pistol from the dead man's belt. His strength was flooding back to him, and in spite of the agony caused by every movement, he clanked slowly down toward the door.

At sight of his chained and bandage-swathed figure a wild shriek welled up, and when he laughed and fired into the midst of them all opposition ceased.

Cathbarr still sought the Dark Master, raging back and forth, smiting and smiting with never a pause in the flaillike sweep of his long arms.

He saw Brian standing there, and emitted a wild bellow of joy, but never ceased from his smiting. Out through the door poured a stream of maddened figures, for blind panic had come on every man there, and Cathbarr's was not the only weapon that drew blood as the men fought for exit.

Brian laughed again, for now he knew that he would die in no long time, but it would not be under the torturers. Cathbarr cleared the hall, sent the last man flying out with an arm lopped from him, and swung to the huge doors after kicking two or three bodies from his way. When the beam had dropped into place and they were alone with the dead and dying, he turned to Brian and flung out his arms.

"Careful!" exclaimed Brian, seizing his hand. "None of your bear-hugs, old friend," and he swiftly told of his tortures. Tears ran down the giant's blood-strewn face as he listened, and with the tenderness of a woman he picked up Brian and carried him back to a table, setting him on it.

"First for these chains, brother," he cried, going back for his ax. "We may yet win out against these devils."

"Small chance," smiled Brian grimly. "I cannot swing a blade, and we cannot hold this hall for long. Besides, you have some wounds."

Cathbarr roared out a laugh, exuberantly as a boy, and carefully spread Brian's legs open on the table.

"Hold quiet!" he cautioned, and swung up the ax. Down it flashed, the thinner blade sheared through the chain an inch from Brian's ankle and split the oak beneath, and Cathbarr drew back for a second blow.

Four times he struck, and the blows smote off the chains from each wrist and ankle, although the locked rings still remained. But Brian was free, and when he gained his feet he found the exercise had somewhat loosened his muscles, and he picked up a sword.

"We can at least die fighting, Cathbarr," he said, and looked into the giant's eyes. "And, brother, I thank you."

"Nonsense!" blurted out Cathbarr, wiping the blood from his eyes and grinning through his beard. "Turlough Wolf has our men hidden around this royalist camp, and the Bird Daughter has a boat outside the castle.

We cannot get through the royalists, but there is a chance that we can get to the sh.o.r.e. Besides, she has s.h.i.+ps and men coming from her kinsmen in the North. Now, how shall we get away?"

Brian shook his head. "I can hardly walk, Cathbarr, to say nothing of swimming or fighting. There is a rear door out of the hall, yonder, but no use trying it."

"Perchance I have still some strength," grinned Cathbarr, picking up his ax. "Let us have a look at that rear door, before they come at us with muskets."

CHAPTER XII.

HOW THE DARK MASTER WAS RUINED.

The fear that had come upon the O'Donnells was so great that not until pikemen entered the castle from the camp could the Dark Master get men at the doors of the hall. And this proved the salvation of Brian and Cathbarr, for when they left the hall by the rear door and slipped through the corridors, they came out upon the rear or seaward battlements of the castle.

These they found denuded of men, while from the courtyard and front of the keep were rising shouts and batterings, whereat Cathbarr chuckled.

"They are all drawn around to the front, brother. Now, how to get down from here?"

Brian looked around in the starlight, but saw that there was no gate or other opening in the walls. He began to lose hope again; once the Dark Master had burst into the great hall he would scatter men over the whole castle, and their shrift would be short. At this point the walls were some thirty feet high, and pointing out to the sea stood four of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, with b.a.l.l.s piled beside them.

"Now if we had a rope," he said, "the matter would not be hard. Is that boat near the sh.o.r.e?"

"Not so far that I cannot make them hear," grinned Cathbarr, opening his mouth to shout, but Brian stopped him.

"Be careful--do you want to draw down the O'Donnells likewise? Now, cut the ropes from these cannon, and if we have time we shall yet get down safe."

Cathbarr rushed off in delight, and began hewing at the recoil-ropes which bound the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and their carriages to their places. Brian followed him, seizing the ropes and trying to knot the strands hastily and with no little pain to himself; but now the hope of escape began to thrill through him, and for the first time since sighting the Dark Master's stronghold he began to think that he might yet get away.

However, he could do little knotting with one hand, and not until Cathbarr impatiently took over the task was it finished. At the same instant a great burst of yells rose over the castle.

"Hasten!" cried Brian, as the other began fastening the line to a cannon. "I can use one hand--"

"Save your strength," grunted Cathbarr, lifting him after swinging the loop of his ax around his neck. "Catch me about the neck with your good arm, and trust me for the rest, brother."

Brian did as he was ordered, since there was no time for lowering him down. The giant scrambled over the edge, gripping the twisting rope, and Brian tightened his lips to keep down his groans, for the agony was cruel to him. He was forced against the body of Cathbarr, and swirl after swirl of pain went over him at each touch on his burns.

The giant grunted once or twice, for he had many slight wounds also, but with the rope gripped in hands and feet, he lowered away steadily. At length they reached the ground, and the scattered rocks along the sh.o.r.e were but a few yards away.

Cathbarr sent his bull-like voice roaring out at the stars, while Brian clung weakly to him and searched the waters. He could see nothing, but suddenly there drifted in a faint shout, and Cathbarr bellowed once more.

"Swim for it," said Brian, as torches began to move along the walls above. "If those cannon are not loaded, we're safe."

Cathbarr nodded, and caught up the body of Brian tenderly enough in one arm, as he splashed out. The icy water shocked Brian's brain awake and drove the pain out of him momentarily, and before Cathbarr was waist-deep he heard a hail and saw the dark shape of a galley approaching.

Muskets flashed out from the walls, and their bullets whistled overhead, but five minutes later Brian was on the galley, Cathbarr was clambering over the side, and the light boat was being rowed out again.

Brian thought his senses were slipping away when he found Nuala O'Malley herself holding his head as he lay in the stern, while men flung cloaks around him; but warm tears dripped on his face, and she patted his arm soothingly.

"Lie quiet," she said, but Brian would not, for already his brain was leaping ahead, and he knew that there was work to be done.

"Tell me," he asked eagerly, "are my men camped around the royalists?