“Treandhorn, who was it that slew thy father and thy brother?”
“Thou knowest, O King, that it was Nathos, son of Usna, who slew them.”
Concobar smiled. “Now,” he said, “go and do my behest.”
When Treandhorn reached the house, he found all the doors and windows closed and barred. Then fear seized him, for he knew that the sons of Usna were on guard, and would have wrath upon them.
Nevertheless, still more did he fear to go back to Concobar with nought to tell him.
So the man, descrying a narrow window at one side, climbed to it from an unyoked chariot that was near, and looked in. He saw Nathos and Darthool talking each to each in low voices, where they lay upon the white and dappled fawn-skins, with the gold and ivory chessboard between them. He smiled grimly, when he saw how great and noble and kingly Nathos seemed, and how more wonderful and beautiful than ever were the wonder and beauty of the eyes and face and form of Darthool.
It was the last time he smiled. At that moment Nathos glanced upward. Swift as thought he lifted a spiked and barbed chessman and hurled it at the man’s eye. Treandhorn fell backward, but rose at once and fled, with his right eye torn and blind for evermore.
When he came to the king and told his tale, and how Nathos was like a king indeed, and Darthool more beautiful by far than she had been of old, Concobar sprang to his feet. A red light came into his eyes, and he threw back his head and laughed; and at that laughing every man there knew that his madness was come upon him, and that the blood-thirst was already sweating upon many swords.
“Ultonians,” he cried, “will ye do the will of your king?”
“That will we!” they answered with a great shout.