"A poor ending to proud talk, Brian Buidh!"
Brian tried to smile, but with ill success, for he was chilled to the bone and there was blood on his face.
"I am not yet dead, O'Donnell."
"You will be soon enough," the Dark Master chuckled, and the hall thrilled with evil laughter. In the eyes of all Brian had proven himself the weaker man and therefore deserved his fate. "What of this O'Malley journey of yours, eh?"
Brian made no answer, save that his strong lips clamped shut, and his blue eyes narrowed a little. O'Donnell laughed and began to stroke his wolf-hound.
"I have many messengers and many servants, Yellow Brian, and there is little my enemies do which is not told me. Even now men are riding hard and fast to trap Cathbarr of the Ax and your following."
At that Brian laughed, remembering Turlough Wolf and his cunning.
"I think this trapping will prove a hard matter, Dark Master."
"That is as it may be. Now, Brian Buidh, death is hard upon you, and neither an easy nor a swift one. Before you die there are two things which I would know from your lips."
Brian looked at him, but without speaking. The Dark Master had thrust out his head, his hand still lingering on the wolfhound's neck, and his pallid face, drooping mustache, and high brow were very evil to gaze upon. Brian, eying that thin-nostriled, cruel nose, and the undershot jaw of the man, read no mercy there.