Gideon's Spear by Darby Karchut Page A

saint,” he muttered under his breath, then changed his request to tea as well.
    After the waiter delivered the drinks, Martin O’Neill leaned forward, resting elbows on the table. “So, young Finn.” As he pointed at the boy’s neck, Finn noticed that his friendly smile didn’t seem real. “How does it feel to wear the torc at such a young age?”
    â€œPretty good.” An odd nervousness dried his throat. He took a sip of his drink.
    â€œI’m sure it does. A bit of a surprise to your master, no doubt.”
    â€œYeah, I guess.”
    â€œQuite a tribute to his training, wouldn’t you say,” he pressed, ignoring his wife’s hand on his arm. “Considering you’re a halfer.”

Twelve
    T ea sloshed over Finn’s hand.
    Across the table, Lochlan snorted. “Wow. Way to be subtle, Dad.”
    â€œI disagree with you, Martin O’Neill.” Gideon smiled thinly. “Finn’s success is due to both hard work and natural skill. Proud I am of him and what he has accomplished in these first two months of his apprenticeship. Why, at this rate, he’ll be a Knight by the winter solstice.”
    Mac Roth guffawed. “I best step up yer training, then, me lad. Before these two hunt down all the Amandáns and leave us nothing to do,” he joked, easing the tension. He clapped a hand on the shoulder of his new apprentice, who sagged under the Knight’s enormous paw.
    â€œI hope you do, Mac Roth,” Martin O’Neill said. “I’ve already told Lochlan I expect him to earn his torc before summer’s end. The gods know I’ve spent enough time and money having him tutored in the use of knife and dagger.” He stared at his son with a hard eye. Lochlan stared back, face blank. “And you should know, Lir,” Martin O’Neill continued. “I meant no disrespect to Finn or to his parents. Why, we all know of Fergus MacCullen’s reputation as a hunter. It appears he was lucky enough to have inherited his da’s skill, in spite of his mother’s blood. Like father, like son, right?”
    Finn nodded, remembering his master’s order to hold his tongue. He curled his hands into fists under the table and sat fuming until Gideon’s knee nudged his.
    Pretending to look around the restaurant, the Knight leaned over and muttered. “‘Like father, like son,’ eh? Then the gods help Mac Roth.”
    At that moment, several waiters arrived bearing plates of piping-hot battered fish fillets and a heaping basket of French fries. Chips , Finn reminded himself, not French fries . The aroma of deep-fried food made his mouth water. Digging into his dinner, he answered around a mouthful of steaming cod. “He’s going to need all the help they can offer.”
    As supper progressed, conversation bounced around the table, punctuated by the clink of silverware on china. Mac Roth told a story about his early days as an apprentice, which was followed by much laughter and a choking fit from Lochlan. Finn winced in sympathy when Mac Roth pounded the apprentice’s back, almost knocking the boy out of his chair.
    Toward the end of the meal, both Lochlan and Finn grabbed for the basket of chips, resulting in a tug-of-war. Before either could claim victory, Mac Roth reached in with his massive paw and scooped out the remaining potatoes. Everyone laughed, and Etta Riley O’Neill signaled the waiter.
    â€œPlease bring us several more baskets.” She smiled at the boys. “After all, we’ve young warriors to feed.”
    Finn grinned back. “Thank you, ma’am.”
    â€œAhhh, the influence of an old-fashioned Knight.” She nodded in approval at his manners. “Like master, like apprentice,” she said with a trace of a wink.
    Like father, like son. Like master, like apprentice . The words stuck with Finn for a long time.
    At that moment, music began to play from the