Behind Corum the Hounds of Kerenos, ordered not to leave their position, were whining and sniffing at the flagstones near where they sat. The Ghoolegh guard's dull features became curious. He lurched forward.
"What is it, dogs? Do strangers come?"
Corum stepped behind the Ghoolegh and silently drew the key from its hook, inserting it into the lock, turning it, opening the door and closing it behind him. With the distraction of the dogs to occupy his slow brain, the Ghoolegh might not notice the absence of the iron key.
Corum found himself in an apartment full of rich, dark hangings. He sniffed and was surprised to recognize the smell of new-cut grass. The apartment was warm, too, heated by a fire even larger than the one at which Calatin and Goffanon sat two floors below.
But where was Amergin?
Stealthily Corum crept from one dark room to another, his hand on his sword, expecting some new trap.
And then, at last, he saw something. At first he took it for an animal, for it was upon all fours and eating from a golden tray piled high with the strands of some vegetable.
The head turned but the eyes did not see Corum, still draped in his Sidhi Mantle. Large, soft eyes stared at nothing and the jaws moved slowly as they chewed the vegetation. The body was clothed in sheepskin garments with the wool still on them. The wool was dirty and full of filthy scraps of thistle, briar and burrs as if torn from the body of a wild mountain sheep. Jacket, shirt and leggings were all of the same coarse stuff and there was even a hood of sheepskin drawn around the head, exposing only the face. The man looked ridiculous and pathetic and Corum knew that this was Amergin, High King of Mabden, Archdruid of Craig Don, and that he was truly under a glamour.
It had been a handsome face, possibly an intelligent face, but now it was neither. The eyes stared, unblinking, into nothing, the jaws continued to chew at the grass.
Corum murmured: "Amergin?"
And Amergin ceased his chewing. He opened his mouth and he uttered a single, frightened bleat.
He began to crawl toward the shadows where doubtless he thought he would find security.
Sadly, Corum drew his sword.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
A TRAITOR SLEEPS, A FRIEND AWAKES
Without hesitation, Corum reversed his grip upon his sword and brought the round pommel down hard on the back of Amergin's neck. Then he picked up the body, surprised by its lightness. The man was slowly starving to death on the diet of grass he had been fed. Corum had been told that there would be little chance of releasing Amergin from his enchantment until they were far away from Caer Llud. He would have to carry the Archdruid to safety.
Somehow he managed to drape his mantle over Amergin's body as well as his own, checking in a mirror that both he and Amergin were invisible. Looking once around the room he turned and walked back to the bronze door, his sword still in his hand, though also covered by his mantle.
Cautiously he turned the key and opened the door. The Ghoolegh was standing up, close to the hounds. Both the devil dogs remained nervous, suspicious, but were still seated, their heads corning almost to the Ghoolegh's shoulder. The red, stupid eyes of the guard peered first down the stair and then about the landing and Corum was sure that he had seen the door closing, but then he looked again down the stairs and Corum was able to replace the key on its hook.
But he moved hastily. The key clinked against the stone of the wall. The dogs picked up their ears. They snarled. Standing at the top of the stairs the Ghoolegh began to turn. Corum rushed forward and kicked the Ghoolegh off-balance. The undead creature yelled and fell, tumbling head-over-heels down the granite steps. The dogs glared and one snapped at Corum, but the Vadhagh prince lunged forward with his sword and cut through the hound's jugular as cleanly as he had slain the lump. Then he felt a blow on his back and staggered, taking two involuntary bounds down the stairs and only barely managing to keep his balance, burdened as he was by the unconscious High King, staggering around as the remaining hound leapt from the top of the stair, its red jaws extended, its glistening yellow fangs dripping saliva, its fur bristling, its forelegs extended. Corum only had time to bring up his sword before those gigantic paws had struck his chest and he was driven back against the wall, glimpsing from the corner of his single eye two Ghoolegh guards running to discover the cause of the commotion.
But his sword point had found the hound's heart and the beast had been dead even as it struck Corum. He dragged himself from under it, keeping a firm hold on Amergin, tugging his sword from the hound's corpse and then rearranging the Sidhi Mantle about his body.
The Ghoolegh had seen something and they hesitated. They looked at the corpse of the hound, they looked at each other, uncertain what to do. Corum drew back, permitting himself a relieved grin as the Ghoolegh brandished their cutlasses and began to ascend the steps, plainly believing that whoever had slain the hound was still above.
Down the next flight Corum ran, clambering over the as yet undetected corpse of the lump, down the rest of the steps until, panting, he reached the landing.
But Calatin and Goffanon had heard the sounds of strife and they were coming out of their room. Calatin was first. He was shouting. "What is it? Who attacks?" He stared straight through Corum.
Corum made to move forward.
Then Goffanon said in a thick, slurred voice which had more curiosity in it than anger: "Corum? What do you in Caer Llud?"
Corum made to put a finger to his lips, hoping that Goffanon still had some loyalties to his Vadhagh cousin. Certainly Goffanon's great axe was still held loosely in his hand. He did not seem prepared to do battle.
‘ 'Corum?" Calatin whirled from where he stood on the first step. "Where?"
"There," said Goffanon pointing.
Calatin understood swiftly. "Invisible! He must be slain. Slay him! Slay him, Goffanon!"
'‘ Very well.'' Goffanon began to get a grip on the haft of his axe.
"Goffanon! Traitor!" yelled Corum, and put up his own sword, revealing his position to Calatin who took a dagger from his belt and began to move toward him.
Goffanon was moving slowly, as if drugged. Corum decided to deal with Calatin first. He whirled his sword round in a poorly considered stroke which yet found Calatin's head and downed him, but the wizard was only knocked senseless by the flat of the sword. Corum gave Goffanon all his concentration, wishing desperately that he was not hampered by the burden of Amergin across his shoulder.
"Corum?" Goffanon frowned. "Must I kill you?" "It's no wish of mine, traitor."
Goffanon began to lower his axe.’ 'But what does Calatin wish?'' ' 'He wishes nothing.'' Corum believed that he understood a little now of Goffanon's position. Amergin was not the only occupant of the tower under a glamour. ' 'He wishes you to protect me. That is what he wants. He wishes that you come with me."
"Very well," said Goffanon simply. And he fell in beside Corum.
"Hurry!" Corum stooped to wrench something from Calatin's body. From above came the puzzled voices of the Ghoolegh, and the Ghoolegh whom Corum had pushed down the steps was beginning to slither forward, though almost every bone must have been broken. They were hard to slay, those who were already dead. "Those beyond the tower must soon realize that something is afoot here."
They began to descend the last stairway.
There was a noise below and around the bend came the remaining Ghoolegh while at the same time Corum heard their comrades rushing down the steps, having decided that their enemies must somehow have escaped them.
Two above and three below. The Ghoolegh hesitated, seeing only Goffanon. Doubtless they had been told that Goffanon was not an enemy and this confused them further. As quickly as he could, Corum crept past those who blocked the path below and, as they began to climb towards Goffanon, he did the only thing he could do against the living dead: He cut at the tendons of their legs so that they flopped down, using their arms to continue to crawl towards Goffanon, their cutlasses still in their hands. Goffanon turned with his
axe and chopped at the legs of the two remaining Ghoolegh, severing those limbs. No blood spouted as the guards collapsed.
Then they were through the door, running into the cold poisoned mist, down the steps from the tower, through the gateway, into the freezing streets, Goffanon loping beside Corum, keeping pace with him, his brows still drawn together as if in tremendous concentration.
Into the house they went and Jhary-a-Conel was already mounted, swathed still in coarse blankets so that only his face peeped through, holding Corum's horse ready for him. Jhary was astonished to see the Sidhi Smith. "Are you Amergin?"
But Corum was tearing the mantle of invisibility from him, revealing the starved figure in old sheepskins who lay over his shoulder. "This is Amergin," he explained curtly. "The other's a cousin of mine I thought a traitor." Corum heaved the prone Archdruid over his saddle, speaking to Goffanon. "Do you come with us, Sidhi? Or do you remain to serve the Fhoi Myore?"
"Serve the Fhoi Myore? A Sidhi would not do that! Goffanon serves nobody!" The speech was still thick, the eyes still dull.
Having no time to waste either upon analyzing the cause of Goffanon's strange actions or conversing with the great smith to learn more, Corum said roughly:
"Then come with us from Caer Llud."
"Aye," said Goffanon musingly. "I would prefer to leave Caer Llud."
They rode through the chilling mist, avoiding the massings of warriors on the far side of the city. Perhaps it was this which had allowed them to enter the city and leave it without detection—the Fhoi Myore thought only of their wars upon the West and gathered together all their forces, all their attention, for this single venture.
Whatever the reason, they were soon able to leave the outskirts of Caer Llud and were riding up a snow-covered hill, with the Dwarf Goffanon running easily beside their horses, his axe upon his shoulder, his beard and hair streaming behind him, his huge breath billowing in the air.
"Gaynor will soon understand what has happened and be most angry," Corum told Jhary-a-Conel. "He will realize that he has made a fool of himself. We can expect pursuit soon and he will be most vicious if he finds us."
Jhary peered out from under his many blankets, refusing to relinquish a morsel of warmth. "We must make speed for Craig Don," he said. "There we will have time to consider what to do next." He managed to grin. "At least we now have something the Fhoi Myore wish to keep—we have Amergin."
"Aye. They'll be reluctant to destroy us if it means destroying Amergin too. But we cannot rely on that.'' Corum adjusted the body more securely across his saddle.
"From what I know of the Fhoi Myore, they'll not think over-subtly upon the matter," agreed Jhary.
"Always our good luck and our bad luck both, the mentality of the Fhoi Myore!'' Corum grinned back at his old friend.' Tor all the great danger ahead of us, Jhary-a-Conel, I cannot but feel right-well satisfied with today's accomplishments. Not long ago I knew if I went to my death, my quest would be unfulfilled. Now should I die, at least I shall know that I was partially successful!"
"It will not give me much satisfaction, however," said Jhary-a-Conel feelingly. And he looked over his shoulder to Caer Llud in the distance as if he already heard the baying of the Hounds of Kerenos.
They left the mist behind and the air became relatively warmer. Jhary began to strip the blankets from him and drop them behind in the snow as they galloped on. The horses needed no urging this time. They were as glad to be free of Caer Llud and its unnatural mists as were their riders.
It was four days before they heard the noise of the Hounds. And Craig Don was still some distance off.
THE FOURTH CHAPTER
OF ENCHANTMENTS AND OMENS
"Of the few things I fear," said Goffanon, "I fear those dogs most." Since they had left Caer Llud far behind them, his speech had become increasingly coherent, his mind sharper, though he had said little about his association with the Wizard Calatin. "There must be still thirty miles of hard country before Craig Don is reached."
They had come to a stop upon a hill, searching through the dancing snow for sign of the dogs which pursued them.
Corum was thoughtful. He looked at Amergin who had awakened the night after they had fled Caer Llud and had since been bound to stop him from straying. Occasionally the High King would utter a bleat, but it was impossible to divine what he wanted from them, unless it was to indicate his hunger, for he had eaten little since they had fled the city. He spent most of his time in sleep, and even when he was awake he was passive, resigned.
Corum said to Goffanon:' 'Why were you in Caer Llud. I remember you telling me you intended to spend the rest of your days in Hy-Breasail. Did Calatin come to the Enchanted Isle and offer you a bargain which attracted you?"
Goffanon snorted. "Calatin? Come to Hy-Breasail? Of course not. And what bargain could he offer me that was better than that which you offered? No, I fear that you were the instrument of my alliance with the Mabden wizard."
"I? How?"
' 'Remember how I scoffed at Calatin's superstitions? Remember how thoughtlessly I spat into that little bag you gave me? Well, Calatin had a good reason for wanting that spittle. He has more power than I guessed—and a power I barely understand. It was the dryness which first came upon me, you see. No matter how much I drank I still felt thirsty—terrible, painful thirst. My mouth was forever dry. Corum. I was dying of thirst, though I nearly drained the rivers and streams of my island, gulping down the water as fast as I could, yet never satisfying that thirst. I was horrified—and I was dying. Then came a vision—a vision sent by that man of power, Corum—by that Mabden. And the vision spoke to me and told me that Hy-Breasail was rejecting me as it rejected the Mabden, that I should die if I remained there—die of this frightful thirst." The dwarf shrugged his huge shoulders.' 'Well, I debated this, but I was already mad with thirst. At last I set sail for the mainland, where Calatin greeted me. He gave me something to drink. That drink did satisfy my thirst. But it also robbed me of my senses and put me completely in the wizard's power. I became his slave. He can still reach out for me. He could still trap me again and make me do his bidding. While he has that charm he made from my spittle—the charm which brings on the thirst—he can also control my thoughts to a large extent—he can somehow occupy my mind and cause my body to perform certain actions. And while he occupies my mind, I am not responsible for what I do."
"So by delivering that blow to Calatin's head, I was able to break his influence over you?"
"Yes. And by the time he recovered we were doubtless beyond the range of his magic-working!" Goffanon sighed. "I had never thought a Mabden could command such mysterious gifts."
"And that is how the horn came back into Calatin's keeping?"
"Aye. I gained nothing from my bargain with you, Corum."
Corum smiled as he drew something from beneath his cloak. ' 'Nothing,'' he said. "But I gained something from that most recent encounter."
"My horn!"
"Well," said Corum, "I remember how mercenary you were, friend Goffanon, in the matter of bargains. Strictly speaking, I would say this horn is mine."
Goffanon nodded his great head philosophically. ‘’That is fair," he said. "Very well, the horn is yours, Corum. I lost it, after all, through my own stupidity."
"But through my unconscious connivance," said Corum. "Let me borrow the horn a while, Goffanon. When the time seems ripe, I will return it to you."
"It is a better bargain than any I made with you, Corum. I feel ashamed."
"Well, Goffanon, what do you plan to do? Return to Hy-Breasail?"
Goffanon shook his head. "What should I gain by that. It seems my best interests lie with your cause, Corum, for if you defeat Calatin and the Fhoi Myore, then I am freed from Calatin's service forever. If I return to my island, Calatin can always find me again.''
"Then you are fully with us?"
"Aye."
Jhary-a-Conel shifted nervously in his saddle. "Listen," he said, ‘ 'they come m
uch closer now. I think they have our scent. I think we are in considerable danger, my friends."
But Corum was laughing. "I think not, Jhary-a-Conel. Not now."
"Why so? Listen to their ghastly baying!" His lips curled in distaste. "The wolves seek the sheep, eh?"
And, as if in confirmation, Amergin bleated softly.
Then Corum laughed. "Let them come closer," he said. "The closer the better."
He knew that it was wrong to leave Jhary in such suspense but he was enjoying the sensation—so often had Jhary made mysteries himself.
They rode on.
And all the while the Hounds of Kerenos came closer.
They were in sight of Craig Don by the time the hounds appeared behind them, but they knew that the devil dogs could move faster than could they. There was no chance at all of reaching the seven stone circles before the hounds caught them.
Corum peered backward at their pursuers, looking for signs of a suit of armor which constantly shifted its colors, but there was none. White faces and red eyes—the Ghoolegh huntsmen—controlled the pack. They were most expert at doing so, having been slaves of the Fhoi Myore for generations, bred beyond the sea in eastern lands before the Fhoi Myore began their reconquest of the West. Gay nor, no doubt against his will, had been needed by the Fhoi Myore to lead the marching warriors who went against Caer Mahlod (if that was where they went) and so had been kept from the pursuit. This was just as well, thought Corum, unslinging the horn and putting its ornamental mouthpiece to his lips. He took a deep breath.
"Ride for Craig Don," he told the others. "Goffanon, take Amergin."
The smith drew the limp body of the Archdruid from Corum's saddle and swung it easily over his massive shoulder. "But you will die . . ." Jhary began.
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