Corum had observed little glass in any other part of this Mabden world. Calatin had found benefits, it appeared, in his studying of ancient lore. The roofs of the house were high and supported by stone beams, and the rooms of the house, as Calatin showed it to him, were filled with scrolls, books, tablets and experimental apparatus—truly a wizard’s lair.
Yet there was nothing sinister, to Corum, in Calatin’s possessions or, indeed, his obsessions. The man called himself a wizard, but Corum would have called him a philosopher, someone who enjoyed exploring and discovering the secrets of nature.
‘ ‘Here,” Calatin told him, ‘ ‘I have almost everything saved from Lwym-an-Esh’s libraries before that golden civilization sank beneath the waves. Many mocked me and told me that I filled my head with nonsense. My books, they said, were only the work of madmen who had preceded me and contained no more truth than my own work contained. They said that the histories were mere legends; that the grimoires were fantasies—fiction; that the talk of gods and demons and such was merely poetic, metaphorical. But I believed otherwise and I was proved correct.” Calatin smiled coldly. ‘ “Their deaths proved me right,”—the smile changed— “though I did not have very much satisfaction in knowing that all who might have apologized to me are now slain by the Hounds of Kerenos or frozen by the Fhoi Myore.”
“You have no pity for them, have you Wizard?” Corum said, seating himself upon a stool and staring through the window out to sea.
‘ Tity? No. It is not my character to know pity. Or guilt. Or any of those other emotions which other mortals care so much for.”
“You do not feel guilty that you sent your twenty-seven sons and your grandson upon a fruitless series of quests?”
“They were not entirely fruitless. There is little more I seek now.”
‘I meant that you must surely feel some remorse for the fact that they all died.”
‘I do not know that all of them died. Some simply did not return. But yes, most did die. It is a shame, I suppose. I would rather that they lived. But my interest is more in abstractions—pure knowledge-—than the usual considerations which hold so many mortals in chains.”
Corum did not pursue the subject.
Calatin moved about the big room complaining of his wet clothes but making no effort to change them. They had dried before he next spoke to Corum.
“You go to Hy-Breasail, you said.”
“Aye. Do you know where the island lies?”
“If the island exists, yes. But all mortals who go close to the island, so it is said, are immediately put under a glamour—they see nothing, save perhaps a reef or cliffs impossible to scale. Only the Sidhi see Hy-Breasail as the island really looks. That, at least, is what I have read. None of my sons returned from Hy-Breasail.”
“They sought it and perished?”
“Losing several good boats into the bargain. Goffanon rules there, you see, and will have naught to do with mortals or Fhoi Myore. Some say he is the last of the Sidhi.” Calatin looked suddenly at Corum in suspicion. He drew back slightly. “You are not… ?”
“I am Corum,” Corum said. “I told you that. No, I am not Goffanon, but Goffanon, if he exists, is the one I seek.”
“Goffanon! He is powerful.” Calatin was frowning. “But perhaps it is true and you are the only one who can find him. Perhaps we could make a bargain, Prince Comm.”
“If it is to our mutual benefit, aye.”
Calatin became pensive, fingering his beard, muttering to himself. “The only servants of the Fhoi Myore who do not fear the island and are not subject to its enchantments are the Hounds of Kerenos. Kerenos himself, even, fears Hy-Breasail—but not his hounds. Therefore you would be in danger, even there, of the dogs .“He looked up and looked hard at Comm.’ ‘You might reach the island, but you probably would not live to find Goffanon.”
“If he exists.”
‘ ‘Aye, aye-yif he exists. I thought I guessed your quest when you spoke of the spear. That is Bryionak, I take it?” “Bryionak is its name.”
“One of the treasures of Caer Llud was it not?”
“I believe that is common knowledge amongst your folk.”
“And why do you seek it?”
“It will be useful to me against the Fhoi Myore. I can say no more.”
Calatin nodded. ‘ ‘There is no more that needs saying. I will help you, Prince Corum. Do you need aboat to go to Hy-Breasail. I have a boat you may borrow. And protection against the Hounds of Kerenos? You may borrow my horn.”
“And what must I do in return?”
“You must pledge me that you will bring me back something from Hy-Breasail. Something very valuable to me. Something which you can only get from the Sidhi Smith, Goffanon.”
“A jewel? A charm?”
“No. Much more.” Calatin fumbled among his papers and his equipment until he found a little bag of smooth, soft leather. ‘ ‘This is watertight,” he said. “You must use this.”
“What do you want? Magic water from a well?”
‘ ‘No,” said Calatin urgently, quietly.’ ‘You must bring me some of the spittle belonging to the Sidhi Smith, Goffanon. In this. Take it.’‘ He reached inside his robes and drew out the beautiful horn he had used to drive away the Hounds of Kerenos. “And take this. Blow it three times to drive them off. Blow it six times to set them upon an enemy.”
Corum fingered the ornate horn. “It must be a powerful thing, indeed,” he murmured, “if it can match that of Kerenos.” “It was once a Sidhi horn,” Calatin told him.
And an hour later Calatin had taken him to the far side of the mount where a little natural harbor still was. In the harbor was a small sailing boat. Calatin gave Corum a chart and a lodestone. Corum carried the hom at his belt now and his own weapons were upon his back.
“Ah,” said the wizard Calatin, fingering his own noble skull with trembling fingers, “perhaps at last I may have my ambition fulfilled. Do not fail, Prince Corum. For my sake, do not fail.”
‘Tor the sake of the people of Caer Mahlod, for all the people who have not so far been slain by the Fhoi Myore, for the sake of a world in perpetual winter that might never see the spring again, I shall try not to fail, Wizard.”
And then the sea-wind had caught the sail and the boat sped out over the sparkling water, heading west to where Lwym-an-Esh and her beautiful cities had once been.
And Corum fancied for a moment that he would find Lwym-an-Esh just as he had seen it last, and that all the rest, all the events of the past weeks, would be a dream.
Moidel’s Mount and the mainland were soon far behind, out of sight, and flat water lay all around him.
If Lwym-an-Esh had survived, he would have seen it by this time. But lovely Lwym-an-Esh was not there. The stories of her sinking beneath the waves were true. And would the stories be true of Hy-Breasail? Was it really all that was left of the land? And would he be subject to the same illusions suffered by previous voyagers.
He studied his charts. Soon he would know the answers. In another hour or so he would sight Hy-Breasail.
THE SEVENTH CHAPTER
THE DWARF GOFFANON
Was this the beauty against which the old woman had warned him?
Certainly it was beguiling. It could only be the island named Hy-Breasail. It was not what he had thought he would find for all that it bore resemblence to parts of Lwym-an-Esh. The breeze caught the sail of his boat and blew him closer to the coast.
Surely there could be no danger here?
Soft seas whispered on the white beaches and the light wind stirred the green branches of cypress trees, willows, poplars, oaks and strawberry trees. Gentle, rolling hills protected quiet valleys. Flowering rhododendron bushes bloomed with deep scarlets, purples and yellows. Warm, glowing light touched the landscape and gave it a faint, golden haze.
Corum, as he looked upon the island, was filled with a deep sense of peace. He knew that he could rest there forever, that he would be content to lie beside the
sparkling, winding rivers and walk over the sweet-smelling lawns looking at the deer, the squirrels and the birds which teemed there.
Another Corum, a younger Corum, would have accepted this vision without question. After all, there had once been Vadhagh estates which resembled this island. But that had been the Vadhagh dream, and the Vadhagh dream was over. Now he inhabited the Mabden dream—perhaps even the Fhoi Myore dream which was overwhelming it. Was there a place in either of those dreams for the land of Hy-Breasail?
So it was with a certain caution that Corum beached his boat upon the strand and then dragged it into the cover of some rhododendron bushes growing close to the shore. His weapons he adjusted in his harness so that they would be within easy reach and then he began to march inland, experiencing a certain guilt that so martial a figure as himself should be invading this peaceful place.
As he walked through groves and across meadows he passed small herds of deer which showed no fear of him and, indeed, other animals which showed open curiosity and came closer to investigate this stranger. It was possible, Corum thought, that he was under the spell of a powerful illusion, but it was hard to believe on anything but the most abstract of levels. Yet no Mabden had ever returned from the place and many voyagers denied finding it at all, while the Fhoi Myore, fearsome and cruel, were terrified of setting foot here, though legend had it that they once had conquered the whole land of which only this part remained. There were many mysteries, thought Corum, concerning Hy-Breasail, but there was no denying the fact that, to a weary mind and an exhausted body, there could be no more perfect world.
He smiled as he saw the bright butterflies fluttering through the summer air, the peacocks and pheasants serene upon the green lawns. Even at its finest the landscape of Lwym-an-Esh could not have equalled this.
Yet there was no sign of habitation. There were no ruins, no houses—not even a cave where a man might dwell. And perhaps that was what made him retain a shade of suspicion concerning this paradise. Yet one being, surely, did live here, and that was the Smith Goffanon, who protected his domain with enchantments and terrors which were said to bring death to any who dared invade it.
Subtle enchantments, indeed, thought Corum; and well-hidden terrors.
He paused to look at a small waterfall which flowed over limestone rocks. Rowan trees grew on the banks of the clear stream and in the stream were small trout and grey ling. The sight of the fish, as well as the game he had seen earlier, began to make him feel hungry. He had eaten such poor fare since he had first come to Caer Mahlod, and he dearly wanted to unsling one of his lances and try to spear a fish. But something warned him against this action. It occurred to him—and it might have been a thought inspired by nothing more than superstition— that if he attacked even one of the denizens of the island, all the life of the island might turn against him. He determined to avoid killing so much as an irritating insect during his sojourn on Hy-Breasail and took, instead, a piece of dried meat from his pouch and began to gnaw on that as he walked. He was climbing uphill now, towards a great boulder which seemed perched on the very top of the slope.
The climb became steeper the nearer to the top he got, but at last he reached the boulder and paused, leaning against it and looking about him. He had expected to see the whole of the island from this eminence, for it was certainly the highest hill he had spotted. But, strangely, he saw no sea at all in any direction.
A peculiar shimmering mist, blue and flecked with gold, was on every horizon. It seemed to Corum to follow, perhaps, the coastline of the island, for it was irregular. Yet why had he not seen it when he first landed? Was it this mist which kept the eyes of most travellers from sight of Hy-Breasail?
He shrugged. The day was warm and he was tired. He found a smaller rock in the shade of the great boulder and sat down on it, drawing a small flask of wine from his pouch and sipping it slowly as he let his gaze wander over the valleys, groves and streams of the island. Everywhere it was the same, as if carefully landscaped by a gardener of genius. He had already come to the conclusion that Hy-Breasail’s countryside was not wholly natural in origin. It was more like a great park, such as the Vadhagh had created at the height of their culture. Perhaps that was why the animals were so tame, he thought. It could be that they all led protected lives and so trusted mortals like himself, having had no experience of danger at the hands of two-legged creatures. Yet he was again forced to remind himself of the Mabden who had not returned, of the Fhoi Myore who had conquered the place and then fled, fearing ever to return.
He felt drowsy. He yawned and stretched himself out on the grass. His eyes closed and his mind began to wander a little as sleep slowly overwhelmed him.
And he dreamed that he spoke to a youth whose flesh was all gold and from whom, in some odd way, a great harp grew. And the youth, who smiled without kindness, began to play upon this harp. And Medhbh the warrior-princess listened to the music as her face became full of hatred for Corum, and she found a shadowy figure who was Corum’s enemy and directed him to slay Corum.
And Corum woke up, still hearing the strange music of the harp. But the music faded before he could determine whether he had actually heard it or whether it had lingered on from his dream.
The nightmare had been a cruel one and it had made him afraid. He never dreamed such a dream before. It was possible, he thought, that he was beginning to understand something of the peculiar dangers of this island. Perhaps it was in the nature of the island to turn men’s minds in on themselves and let them create their own terrors—terrors far worse than any others which might be inflicted upon them. He would avoid sleep, if he could, from now on.
And then he wondered if he were not still dreaming, for there came in the distance the familiar sound of the baying of hounds, the Hounds of Kerenos. Had they followed him to the island, swimming across a score of miles of sea? Or had they come already to Hy-Breasail, to wait for him. He touched the ornate horn at his belt as their yapping and howling came closer. He scanned the land for sight of them, but all he could see was a startled herd of deer led by a great stag bounding across a meadow and into a forest. Did the hounds pursue the herd? No. The hounds did not appear.
He saw something else moving in a valley on the other side of the hill. He guessed that it was probably another deer, but then he realized that it ran on two legs in peculiar leaping bounds. It was heavy and tall, and it carried something which flashed whenever the sun’s rays touched it. A man?
Corum saw a white hide in the trees some distance behind the man. Then he saw another. Then there burst from the grove a pack of some twelve great dogs with tufted, red-tipped ears. The hounds pursued what was for them more familiar quarry than deer.
The man—if man it was—began to leap up a rocky hillside, following the course of a big waterfall, but this did not deter the dogs, who kept implacably upon his track. The hillside became almost sheer, but still the man climbed—and still the dogs followed. Corum was amazed at their agility. Again something bright flashed. Corum realized that the man had turned and that the bright thing was a weapon which he was wielding to ward off the attack. It was obvious to Corum that the dogs’ victim would not last for long. It was only then that he remembered the horn. Hastily he raised it to his lips and blew three long blasts in quick succession. The notes of the horn sounded out clear and sharp across the valley. The dogs turned and began to circle, as if scenting, though their quarry was in easy sight.
Then the Hounds of Kerenos began to lope away. Corum laughed in delight. For the first time he had won a victory over the hellish dogs.
At his laughter, it seemed, the man on the far side of the valley looked up. Corum waved to him, but the man did not return the wave.
As soon as the Hounds of Kerenos had disappeared, Corum began to run down the hillside towards the one whom he had helped. It did not take him long to reach the bottom of the slope and begin to ascend the next. He recognized the waterfall and the shelf of rock where the man had turned to do battle
with the hounds, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He had not climbed higher, that was certain, nor had he come down, Corum was sure, for he had a fairly clear view of the waterfall as he ran.
“Ho there!’‘ shouted the Prince in the Scarlet Robe, brandishing his horn. “Where are you hiding, comrade?”
He was answered only by the rattling of water upon rocks as the waterfall continued its progress down the cliff face. He stared about him, peering at every shadow, every rock and bush, but it was as if the man had actually become invisible.
“Where are you, stranger?”
There was a faint echo, but this was drowned quickly by the sound of the water hissing and slapping as it foamed over the crags.
Corum shrugged and turned away, thinking it ironic that the men should be more timid than the beasts on the island.
And then suddenly, from nowhere, he felt a heavy blow in the small of his back and he was tumbling forward onto the heather, arms outstretched to break his fall.
“Stranger, eh?” said a deep surly voice. “Call me stranger, eh?”
Corum struck the ground and rolled over, trying to free his sword from its scabbard. The man who had pushed him was massive. He must have stood eight feet high and was a good four feet broad at the shoulder. He wore a polished iron breastplate, polished iron greaves inlaid with red gold, and an iron helm upon his shaggy, black-bearded head. In his monstrous hands was the largest war-axe Corum had ever seen.
Corum scrambled up, drawing his blade. He suspected that this was the one whom he had saved. But the huge creature appeared to feel no gratitude at all.
Corum managed to gasp: “Who do I fight?”
“You fight me. You fight the Dwarf Goffanon,” said the giant.
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
THE SPEAR BRYIONAK
In spite of his danger, Corum found himself grinning in disbelief. “Dwarf?”
Chronicles of Corum Page 10
