White as death was the stone of which it
was built, save where it was streaked with black or green from the
foulness of wet mosses that clung to its cornices and battlements, and
none seemed stirring about the place nor did any banner blow from its
towers.
Then said Niam, "This, O Oisin, is the Dun of the giant Fovor of the
Mighty Blows. In it he keeps prisoner a princess of the Fairy Folk
whom he would fain make his bride, but he may not do so, nor may she
escape, until Fovor has met in battle a champion who will undertake
her cause. Approach, then, to the gate, if thou art fain to undertake
this adventure, and blow the horn which hangs thereby, and then look
to thy weapons, for soon indeed will the battle be broken upon thee."
Then Oisin rode to the gate and thrice he blew on the great horn which
hung by it, and the clangour of it groaned drearily back from the
cliffs that overhung the glen. Not thus indeed sounded the _Dord_ of
Finn as its call blew lust of fighting and scorn of death into the
hearts of the Fianna amid the stress of battle. At the third blast the
rusty gates opened, grinding on their hinges, and Oisin rode into a
wide courtyard where servitors of evil aspect took his horse and
Niam's, and led them into the hall of Fovor. Dark it was and low, with
mouldering arras on its walls, and foul and withered rushes on the
floor, where dogs gnawed the bones thrown to them at the last meal,
and spilt ale and hacked fragments of flesh littered the bare oaken
table.
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