Cuchulainn said to Cathbadh, «Will you make the sacrifice, dear?»

The druid stood up, spilled a few drops on the floor and chanted to the gods Bile, Danu, and Ler. Shea decided that it was only imagination that he was hearing the sound of beating wings, and only the approach of the meal that gave him a powerful sense of internal comfort, but there was no doubt that Cathbadh knew his stuff.

He knew it, too. «Was that not fine, now?» he said, as he sat down next to Shea. «Can you show me anything in your outland magic ever so good?»

Shea thought. It wouldn’t do any harm to give the old codger a small piece of sympathetic magic, and might help his own reputation. He said, «Move your wine-cup over next to mine, and watch it carefully.»

There would have to be a spell to link the two if he were going to make Cathbadh’s wine disappear as he drank his own, and the only one he could think of at the moment was the «Double, double» from «Macbeth.» He murmured that under his breath, making the hand passes he had learned in Faerie.

Then he said, «Now, watch,» picked up his mug and set it to his lips.

Whoosh!

Out of Cathbadh’s cup a geyser of wine leaped as though driven by a pressure hose, nearly reaching the ceiling before it broke up to descend in a rain of glittering drops, while the guests at the head of the table leaped to their feet to draw back from the phenomenon.

Cathbadh was a fast worker; he lifted his stick and struck the hurrying stream of liquid, crying something unintelligible in a high voice. Abruptly the gusher was quenched and there was only the table, swimming with wine, and serf women rushing to mop up the mess.