Chronicles of Corum

by Michael Moorcock

  sea as can I? Who can lure them near the shore as can I? Who can change the shapes of the hills and

  the headlands as can I? I am a bard who is called upon by seafarers

  to prophesy. Javelins shall be wielded to avenge our

  wrongs. I prophesy victory.

  I end my song by prophesying all other good things.

  And then the bard would sing his own song as a kind of amplification of Amergins:

  I have been in many shapes before I attained congenial form.

  I have been a narrow blade of a sword;

  I have been a drop in the air;

  I have been a shining star;

  I have been a word in a book;

  I have been a book in the beginning;

  I have been a light in a lantern a year and a half;

  I have been a bridge for passing over threescore rivers;

  I have journeyed as an eagle;

  I have been a boat on the sea;

  I have been a director in battle;

  I have been a sword in the hand;

  I have been a shield in a fight;

  I have been the string of a harp;

  I have been enchanted for a year in the

  foam of water. There is nothing in which I have not been.

  And in these old songs Corum would hear the echoes of his own fate, which Jhary-a-Conel had explained to him—that of being eternally reborn, sometimes fully grown, as a warrior to fight in all the great battles of mortals —whether those mortals be Mabden, Vadhagh or some other race—to fight for the freedom of mortals oppressed by gods (for all that many believed the gods created by mortals). In those songs he heard an expression of the dreams he sometimes had— where he was the whole universe and the universe was him; where he was contained by the universe and simultaneously contained it, and everything had an equal dignity, an equal value, whether animate or inanimate. Rock, tree, horse or man—all were equal.

  This was the mystical belief of many of King Mannach’s folk. A visitor from Corum’s world might have seen this as primitive worship of nature, but Corum knew that it was much more than that. Many a farmer there was in the land of the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich who would bow politely to a stone and murmur an apology before moving it from one place to another; and he would treat his earth, his ox and his plough with as much courtesy as he would treat his father, his wife or his friend. As a result, life among the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich had a formal, dignified rhythm which did not rob it of vitality or humor or, on occasions, anger. And this was why Corum found pride in fighting the Fhoi Myore, for the Fhoi Myore threatened more than life. The Fhoi Myore threatened the quiet dignity of this folk.

  Tolerant of their own foibles, their own vanities, their own follies, the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich tolerated these qualities in others. It was ironical to Corum that his own race, the Vadhagh (called Sidhi by this folk now) had at the end been possessed of a similar outlook and had been robbed of it by the ancestors of this folk. He wondered if, in achieving such a noble way of life, a people became automatically vulnerable to destruction by those who had not achieved it. If so, it was an irony of cosmic proportions. And so Corum dismissed this line of reasoning, for he had become weary of cosmic proportions since his encounter with the Sword Rulers and his discovery of his own destiny.

  Now King Fiachadh came a-visiting, risking much to cross the water from the West. His envoy arrived on a steaming horse which was wrenched to a skidding stop at the edge of the great water ditch surrounding the walls of Caer Mahlod. The envoy was clad in billowing pale green silk, silver breastplate and greaves, a silver battle-cap and a surcoat quartered in yellow, blue, white and purple. He panted as he called his business to the guards upon the gate-towers. Corum, running from the other side of the battlements, saw him and was astonished, for he was dressed in a style unlike anything he had seen before in this land.

  “King Fiachadh’s man!” called the envoy. “Coming to announce our king’s arrival on your shores.” He pointed to the West. “Our ships have landed. King Fiachadh begs the hospitality of his brother King Mannach!”

  “Wait,” cried a guard, “We shall tell King Mannach!”

  ‘ Then hurry, I beg of you, for we are anxious to seek the security of your walls. We have heard many tales of late concerning the dangers to be found abroad in your land.”

  While Corum remained in the gate-tower, looking with polite curiosity at the envoy, King Mannach was summoned.

  King Mannach was astonished for other reasons. “Fiachadh? Why come he to Caer Mahlod?” he murmured, calling out to the envoy: ‘ ‘King Fiachadh knows that he is ever welcome in our town. But why journey you from the land of the Tuha-na-Manannan? Are you attacked?”

  The envoy was still panting, managing only to shake his head. ‘ ‘Nay, sire. My master wishes to confer with you. Only recently we learned that Caer Mahlod had been freed of the Fhoi Myore frost. Thus we set sail speedily, without the usual formalities. For this King Fiachadh wishes you to forgive him.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, unless it be the quality of our hospitality. Tell King Fiachadh we await him with pleasant anticipation.”

  Another nod and the silk-clad knight forced his horse around to ride toward the cliffs, his loose jerkin and surcoat flapping, his silver cap and horse furniture flashing as he disappeared into the distance.

  King Mannach laughed. “Prince Corum, you will like my old friend Fiachadh. And at last we shall have news of how the folk of the Western Kingdoms fare. I had feared them conquered.”

  “I had feared them conquered,” King Mannach said again as he spread his arms and the great gates of Caer Mahlod were opened. Through the passage (which now led under the moat) came a great parade of knights, maidens and squires, bearing banner-decked lances, with samite cloaks, with buckles and broaches of finely worked red gold set with amethysts, turquoise and mother-of-pearl. With round shields engraved and enameled in complicated, flowing designs, with silver-bound scabbards and gilded shoes. Tall, handsome women sat astride horses with ribbons plaited in their manes and tails. The men, too, were tall, and had long, thick moustaches of fiery red or warm yellow, their hair either flowing freely below their shoulders or bound in plaits or secured in bunches with little clasps of gold, brass or gem-set iron. And at the center of this colorful party was a barrel-chested giant of a man with a bright red beard and piercing blue eyes and wind-browned cheeks, dressed in a long robe of red silk trimmed with the fur of the winter fox, and wearing no helmet, only an ancient iron circlet in which runes had been set in delicate, curling gold.

  King Mannach’s arms were still spread as he spoke joyfully: “Welcome old friend. Welcome King Fiachadh of the Distant West, of the old, green land of our forefathers!”

  And the great giant with the red beard opened his mouth and he bellowed with laughter, swinging one leg free over the saddle and sliding to the ground. ‘ ‘I come in my usual style, you see, Mannach. In all my pomp, in all my bombastic majesty!”

  “I see,” said King Mannach embracing the giant, “and I am glad. Who would want a Fiachadh otherwise? You bring color and enchantment to Caer Mahlod. See—my people smile with pleasure. See—their spirits rise. We shall feast tonight. We shall celebrate. You have brought joy to us, King Fiachadh!”

  And King Fiachadh laughed again with pleasure at King Mannach’s words before turning to regard Corum, who had stood back while the old friends greeted one another. “And this is your Sidhi hero—your name hero—Cremm Croich!” He stalked towards Corum and placed a huge hand upon Corum’s shoulder, looking deeply into Corum’s face and appearing to be satisfied. “I thank you, Sidhi, for what you did to help my brother-king. I bring magic with me and we shall talk together later of that. I bring a weighty matter, also …” he said turning to King Mannach “… and that we must all discuss.”

  “Is that why you visit us, sire?” Medhbh stepped forward. She had been visiting a friend in a valley some way distant and had arrived just before King Fiachadh. Sh
e was still in riding costume, in leather and white linen, her unbound red hair flowing down her back.

  “It is the main reason, lovely Medhbh,” said King Fiachadh bending to kiss the cheek she offered. “You are grown as beautiful as I predicted. Ah, my sister lives again in you.”

  “In all ways,” said King Mannach, and there appeared to be a significance in his words which Corum failed to identify.

  Medhbh laughed. “Your compliments are as huge as your vanity, Uncle!”

  “But they are as sincere,” said Fiachadh. And he winked.

  THE SECOND CHAPTER

  THE TREASURE BROUGHT BY KING FIACHADH

  King Fiachadh had brought a harpist with him, and for an instant Corum felt a shiver run through him, so unearthly was the harpist’s music. Corum thought he heard the harp which had sounded at Castle Erom, now Owyn, but it was not that harp. This was sweeter. The bard’s voice merged with the harp so that at times it was hard to tell which one heard. Corum sat with all the others in the great hall of Caer Mahlod, at a single vast table. Hounds ranged among the benches, nosing through reeds strewn upon the flagstones for scraps or for pools of sweet mead. Brands flared brightly, merrily, as if the laughter on all sides actually brightened the hall. Taking after their master, King Fiachadh’s knights and ladies sported with the men and women of Caer Mahlod and many songs were sung, many boasts shouted, many improbable tales told. Corum sat between King Mannach and King Fiachadh and Medhbh sat next to her uncle, all at the head of the great-dining board. King Fiachadh ate as lustily as he spoke, though Corum noticed that the King took little mead and was by no means as drunk as his retainers. Neither did King Mannach drink overmuch, and Corum and Medhbh followed his example. If King Fiachadh chose not to get drunk, there must be a particularly good reason, for evidently he liked to drink. He told several tall stories concerning his capacity while they ate.

  The feasting went well and slowly the hall emptied as the guests and the residents of Caer Mahlod, usually in couples, bowed goodnight and left. Soon there were only a few snoring squires sprawled along the table, a big knight of the Tuha-na-Manannan spread-eagled under the table, a warrior and a maiden of the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich sprawled in each other’s arms near the wall.

  And King Fiachadh said in a deep, serious voice: “You are the last I have visited, old friend.” He looked hard at King Mannach.

  “I knew already what you would say. I fear I knew, too, what the others would say.”

  “Say?” King Mannach frowned.

  “To my proposal.”

  “You have been visiting other kings?” said Corum. “All the other kings whose folk are still free?”

  King Fiachadh nodded his great red head. “All. I see that it is imperative we unite. Our only defense against the Fhoi Myore can be our unity. First I went to the land south of my own—to the folk called Tuha-na-Ana. Secondly I sailed north where dwell, among others, the Tuha-na-Tir-nam-Beo. A mountain people and fierce. Thirdly I sailed down the coast and guested with King Daffynn of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir. Fourthly I came to the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich. Three kings are cautious, thinking that to attract the attention of the Fhoi Myore will mean instant destruction to their lands. What does the fourth king say?”

  “What does King Fiachadh ask?” said Medhbh reasonably.

  “That all those who remain—four great peoples as far as I know—unite. We have some treasures which the power of the Sidhi could put to use in our favor. We have great warriors. We have your example of defeating them. We should carry the attack to Craig Don or Caer Llud, wherever the six remaining Fhoi Myore dwell. A large army. The remains of the free Mabden. What say you, King?”

  “I say that I would agree,” said Mannach. “Who would not?”

  “Three kings would not. Each king thinks himself safer by staying in his own land and saying nothing, doing nothing. And all three kings are afraid. They say that with Amergin in the hands of the Fhoi Myore there is no point in fighting. The elected High King is not dead, so a new one cannot be made. The Fhoi Myore knew this when they spared Amergin’s life …”

  “It is not like your folk to let superstition bind them,” said Corum softly. “Why do you not change this law and make a new High King?”

  “It is not superstition,” said King Mannach without offense. ‘ Tor one thing all the kings must meet to elect the new High King and I gather some are afraid to leave their own domains lest those lands be attacked in their absence or lest they are attacked while in other lands. An election of a High King takes many months. All the people must be consulted. All must hear the candidates, speak with them if they wish. Can we break such a law? If we do break our ancient laws, are our customs worth fighting for?”

  Medhbh said: “Make Corum your War Leader. Unify the kingdoms under him.”

  ‘ ‘That suggestion has been made,” said King Fiachadh.’ ‘I made it. None would hear of it. Most of us have no reason to trust gods. Gods have betrayed us in the past. We prefer to have no part of them.”

  “I am not a god,” said Corum reasonably.

  “You are modest,” said King Fiachadh firmly, “but you are a god. A demigod at very least.” He stroked his red beard. ‘ ‘That is what I think. And I have met you. Imagine, then, what those kings who do not know you think. They have heard the tales by now and those tales must have been greatly magnified by the time of reaching their ears. For instance, I thought to meet a being at least twelve feet high!” King Fiachadh smiled, for he was taller than Corum. “No, the only thing which would unite our folk would be the release of Amergin and the restoration of his full senses.”

  “What has become of Amergin?” Corum asked. He had never heard the details of the High King’s fate, for the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich were reluctant to discuss them.

  “He is under a glamour,” said King Fiachadh soberly.

  “An enchantment? What is its nature?”

  ‘ ‘We are not sure,” said King Mannach. He continued reluctantly: ‘ ‘Amergin is said to think of himself now as an animal. Some say he believes he is a goat, others a sheep, others a pig …”

  “You see how clever are those who serve the Fhoi Myore?” Medhbh said. “They keep our Archdruid alive but destroy his dignity.”

  “And a gloom settles over all those who remain free,” King Fiachadh put in. “That has much to do with why our fellow kings will not fight, Mannach. They have no soul for it with Amergin crawling on all fours and eating grass.”

  “Do not continue,” said King Mannach raising his hand. His old, strong face showed much grief. “Our own High King symbolizes all our pride …”

  “Do not confuse the symbol with the reality, however,” said Corum. “Much pride remains amongst the Mabden race.”

  “Aye,” said Medhbh. “It is true.”

  ‘ ‘Nonetheless,” said King Fiachadh,’ ‘our people will only unite under an Amergin free from enchantment. Amergin was so wise. Such a great man was Amergin.” And a tear came into his blue eye. He turned his head away from them.

  ‘ ‘Then Amergin must be rescued,” said Corum flatly. “Should I find your king for you and bring him to the West?” He did not speak impetuously. From the beginning he had considered this. ‘‘Disguised, I might reach Caer Llud.”

  And when Fiachadh looked back he was not crying. He was grinning. “And I have the disguise,” he said.

  Corum laughed aloud. He had been considering a decision, plainly, which King Fiachadh had also been considering—perhaps for much longer.

  ‘ ‘ You are a Sidhi…” began the king of the Tuha~na-Manannan.

  “Related to them,” said Corum, “as I discovered upon my last quest. We have looks in Corumon and, I suppose, certain powers. I fail to understand, though, why I should possess such powers—”

  “Because all believe,” said Medhbh simply, and she leaned towards him and touched his arm. The touch was like a kiss. He smiled tenderly at her.

  “Very well,” he said. ‘‘Because all believe. However
, you may call me ‘Sidhi’ if it suits you, King Fiachadh.”

  “Then, Sir Sidhi, know this. In the land of the Distant West, the land of my folk, the Tuha-na-Manannan, came a year since a visitor. His name was Onragh—”

  “Onragh of Caer Llud!” gasped King Mannach. “In whose keeping …”

  “… Were the Treasures of Llud, the Sidhi Gifts? Aye. And Onragh lost them all from his chariot as he fled the Fhoi Myore and their vassals. Because the Hounds of Kerenos followed, he could not go back. So he lost them—all save one. And that Treasure he brought across the water to the Distant West, to the land of gentle mists and rain. And Onragh of Caer Llud was dying from his wounds which were of great variety. Half of one hand had been gnawed by the Hounds. An ear had been severed by a Ghoolegh flencher. Several knives had found his offal. Dying, he presented into my safekeeping the only Treasure he had saved, though it had not saved him. He could not use it. Only a Sidhi can use it, though I do not understand why, save that it was originally a Sidhi gift, like most of Caer Llud’s Treasures, and must have worked for us once. And Onragh, doomed to die believing that he had failed our race, brought news of Amergin the High King. At that time Amergin was still in the great tower which stands by the river close to the center of Caer Llud. This tower has always been the home of the High King. But Amergin was already under the glamour which makes him believe himself a beast. And he was guarded by many Fhoi Myore vassals—some of whom came with the Fhoi Myore from their own Realm and others, the half-dead like the Ghoolegh, drawn from slain or captured Mabden. But guarded right well, my friends, if Onragh is to be believed. And not all the guards have human shape, I heard. But that is doubtless where Amergin is.”