Chronicles of Corum

by Michael Moorcock

  "I do not think they mean harm to Caer Mahlod," said Medhbh. "These are Mabden. But what Mabden? I thought all warriors had been summoned by now."

  "They have traveled far and hard by the look of them,’' murmured Corum. "And over the sea, too. Look, their cloaks bear the stains of sea-water. Perhaps they have left a boat near here. Come, let us hail them." He urged his horse from its cover behind the limestone crag, calling out to the newcomers:

  "I bid you good afternoon, strangers. Where are you bound?"

  The burly warrior in the vanguard reined in his pony suddenly, his red brows corning together in a suspicious scowl, his heavy, gnarled hand reaching toward the handle of his sword, and when he spoke his tone was deep and coarse.

  "I bid you a good afternoon, also," he said, "if you mean us no harm. As for where we are bound, well, that is our business."

  "It is also the business of those whose land this is," Corum answered reasonably.

  "That could be," the warrior answered.' 'But if it be not Mabden land, then you have conquered it and if you have conquered it, then you are our enemy and we must slay you. We can see that you are not Mabden."

  "True. But I serve the Mabden cause. And this lady, she is Mabden."

  "She resembles a Mabden, certainly," said the warrior, dropping none of his caution. "But we have seen too many illusions on our journey here to be deceived by what is apparently so."

  "I am Medhbh," said Medhbh fiercely, offended. "I am Medhbh of the Long Arm, famous in my own right as a warrior. And I am the daughter of King Mannach, who rules this land from Caer Mahlod."

  The warrior became a trifle less suspicious, but he kept his hand upon the hilt of his sword and the others spread out as if they prepared to attack Medhbh and Corum.

  "And I am Corum," said Corum, "once called the Prince in the Scarlet Robe, but I traded that robe to a wizard and now I am called Corum of the Silver Hand ."He held up his metal hand which, up to that point, he had concealed."Have you not heard of me? I fight for the Mabden against the Fhoi Myore."

  "That is he!" One of the young warriors behind the leader shouted and pointed at Corum. "The scarlet robe—he does not wear it now—but the features are the same—the eye-patch is the same. That is he!"

  "You have followed us, then, Sir Demon," said the leading warrior. He sighed, turned in his saddle and looked back at his men.

  "These are all that are left, but perhaps we can defeat you and your she-demon consort.''

  "He is no demon and neither am I!" cried Medhbh angrily. "Why do you accuse us of this? Where have you seen us before?"

  "We have not seen you before,'' said the leader. He steadied his nervous pony with a movement of the reins. His harness clattered and his metal stirrup struck the rim of his long shield. "We have seen only this one." He nodded at Corum. "In those foul and sorcerous islands back there.'' He jerked his head in the direction of the sea."The island where we beached eight good longships and ten rafts of provisions and livestock, going ashore for fresh water and meat. You will recall,' ‘ he continued, staring with hatred at Corum, "that when we left it was with but a single ship, no women or children, no livestock save our ponies, and few provisions."

  Corum said: "I assure you that you have not seen me until this moment. I am Corum. I fight the Fhoi Myore. These last weeks I have spent at Caer Mahlod. I have not left at any time. This is the first journey I have taken beyond the immediate confines of the city in a month!"

  "You are the one who came against us on the island," said the youth who had first accused Corum. "In your red cloak, with your helmet of mock-silver, with your face all pale like that of a dead thing, with your eye-patch and your laughter ..."

  "A Shefanhow," said the leader. "We know you."

  "It has been literally a lifetime since I heard that word used," said Corum somberly. "You are close to angering me, stranger. I speak the truth. You must have come to blows with an enemy who resembled me in some way."

  '' Aye! ‘ ‘ the youth laughed bitterly."To the extent of being your twin! We feared you would follow us. But we are ready to defend ourselves against you. Where do your men hide?" He looked about him, his braids swinging with the movement of his head.

  "I have no men," said Corum impatiently.

  The leader laughed harshly. "Then you are foolish."

  "I will not fight you," Corum told him. "Why are you here?"

  "To join those who gather at Caer Mahlod."

  "It is as I thought." All Corum's earlier forebodings had returned and he fought to hold them off."If we give you our weapons and take you to Caer Mahlod, will you believe that we mean you no harm? At Caer Mahlod you will learn that we speak the truth, that we have never seen you before and that we are not your enemies.''

  The loud-voiced youth called:"It could be a trick, to lure us into a trap."

  "Ride with your swords at our throats if you like," said Corum carelessly. "If you are attacked, you may kill us."

  The leader frowned."You have none of the manner of that other we met on the island/' he said. "And if you lead us to Caer Mahlod at least we shall have reached our destination and thus gained something from this meeting."

  ''Artek!' ‘ shouted the youth. "Be wary!''

  The leader turned. "Silence, Kawanh. We can always slay the Shefanhow later!"

  "I would ask you, in courtesy," said Corum evenly, "not to employ that term when you refer to me. It is not one I like and it does not make me sympathetic to you."

  Artek made to answer, a hard smile half-forming on his lips. Then he looked into Corum's single eye and thought better of his reply. He grunted and ordered two of his men forward."Take their weapons. Hold your swords at them as we ride. Very well— Corum—lead us to Caer Mahlod."

  Corum derived some pleasure from the looks of shock on the strangers' faces as they rode to the outskirts of the camp and saw the expressions of concern and anger in the eyes of every Mabden who became aware that Corum and Medhbh were prisoners. Now it was Corum's turn to smile and his smile was broad as the crowd around the twenty riders became thicker and thicker until they were no longer able to advance and came to a halt in the middle of the camp, still some distance from the hill on which Caer Mahlod was built. A war-chief of the Tir-nam-Beo glared at Artek, whose sword pressed upon Corum's chest.

  "What mean you by this, man! Why do you hold hostage our princess? Why threaten the life of our friend, Prince Corum?"

  Artek's embarrassment was so complete that he blushed a deeper red than his hair and beard. "So you spoke the truth . . ."he muttered. But he did not lower his sword. "Unless this is some monstrous illusion and all these are your demon followers."

  Corum shrugged. "If they are demons, Sir Artek, then you are doomed, anyway, are you not?"

  Miserably Artek sheathed his sword. "You are right. I must believe you. Yet your resemblance to the one who attacked us on that hateful and haunted isle is so close—you would not blame me, Prince Corum, if you saw him."

  Corum answered so that only Artek could hear. "I think that I have seen him—in a dream. Later, Sir Artek, you and I must talk about this, for I believe the evil which was worked against you will soon be directed against me—and the results could be even more tragic."

  Artek darted him a puzzled glance but, respecting the tone of Corum's words, said nothing further.

  "You must rest and you must eat," said Corum. He had taken a liking to the barbarian in spite of the poor circumstances of their meeting. "Then you must tell us all your tale in the great hall of Caer Mahlod."

  Artek bowed. "You are generous, Prince Corum, and you are courteous. Now I see why the Mabden respect you."

  THE SIXTH CHAPTER

  CONCERNING THE VOYAGE OF THE PEOPLE OF FYEAN

  "We are an island folk," said Artek, "living mainly off the sea. We fish—" he paused—"well, in the past, until recently, we—well, we were sea-raiders, in short. It is a hard life on our islands. Little grows there. Sometimes we raided nearby coasts, at other times
we attacked ships and took what we needed to survive . . ."

  "I know you now." King Fiachadh laughed heartily. "You are pirates, are you not! You are Artek of Clonghar. Why the folk of our sea ports pass water at the very mention of your name!"

  Artek made a feeble gesture and again he blushed. "I am that same Artek," he admitted.

  "Fear not, Artek of Clonghar," smiled King Mannach, leaning across the table and patting the pirate upon the hand,"all old scores are forgotten in Caer Mahlod. Here we have only one enemy—the Fhoi Myore. Tell us how you came here."

  "One of the ships we raided was from Gwyddneu Garanhir—on its way to Tir-nam-Beo, we discovered, with a message for the king of that land. From that ship we learned of the great massing against the Fhoi Myore. While we have never encountered this folk—living in the remote northwest as we do—we felt that if all the Mabden were joining together against the Cold Folk then we should help also—that their fight was our fight in this case." He grinned, recovering some of his buoyancy. "Besides—without your ships, how should we live? So it was in our interest to ensure that you survived. We readied all our own boats-—more than a score—and built strong, water-tight rafts to tow behind them, taking all our folk from Fyean—our whole island's name—since we did not wish to leave our women and children unprotected." Artek stopped, lowering his eyes. "Ah, how I wish we had left them. Then, at least, they might have died in their own homes and not on the shifting shores of that terrible island."

  Ilbrec, who had squeezed himself into the hall to hear Artek's story, said quietly: "Where is this island?"

  "A little to the north and west of Clonghar. The storm drove us in that direction. During the same storm we lost most of our water and much of our meat. Do you know the place, Sir Sidhi?"

  "Has it a single high hill, very even in its proportions, at its center?"

  Artek inclined his head. "It has."

  "And does one huge pine tree grow on the peak of that hill at the exact center?"

  "There is the biggest pine I have ever seen there," agreed Artek. "When you have landed does everything seem to shimmer and

  threaten to change its appearance, save for that hill which remains sharp and solid in outline?"

  "You have been there!" said Artek.

  "No," said Ilbrec. "I have only heard of the place." And he darted a very hard stare at Goffanon, who affected to be without interest in this island and looked studiously bored. But Corum knew the dwarf well enough to see that Goffanon was deliberately ignoring the import of Ilbrec's glance.

  "We sea-warriors have passed the island before, of course, but since it is often surrounded by mist and there are hidden rocks at various points off its coast, we have never actually landed there. We have never had the necessity to do so."

  "Though some have been thought shipwrecked there in the past and never found," added the eager youth Kawanh. "There are superstitions about the place—that it is inhabited by Shef anhow and such ..." His voice trailed off.

  "Is it sometimes called Ynys Scaith, this place?" asked Ilbrec, still thoughtful.

  "I have heard it called that, aye," Artek agreed."It is an old, old name for the place."

  "So you have been to Shadow Island." Ilbrec shook his fair head, half amused. "Fate draws at more threads than we guessed, eh, Goffanon?"

  But Goffanon pretended that he had not heard Ilbrec, though later Corum saw him offer his fellow Sidhi a secret, warning glance.

  "Aye and that is where we saw Prince Corum here—or his double—" blurted Kawanh, then stopped. "I apologise, Prince Corum," he said. "I had not meant . . ."

  Corum smiled. "Perhaps it was my shadow you saw. After all, the place is called Ynys Scaith—the Isle of Shadows. An evil shadow, however." His smile faded on his face.

  "I have heard of Ynys Scaith.'' Until this moment Amergin had said nothing beyond a formal greeting to Artek and his men. "A place of dark sorcery where evil druids would go to work their magic. A place shunned even by the Sidhi..." And now it was Amergin's turn to look meaningfully at both Ilbrec and Goffanon, and Corum guessed that the wise Archdruid had also noticed the exchange of glances between the two Sidhi. "Ynys Scaith, so I was taught as a novice, existed even before the corning of the Sidhi. It shares certain properties with the Sidhi isle of Hy-Breasail, but is in other ways unlike that place. Where Hy-Breasail was supposed to be a land of fair enchantments, Ynys Scaith was said to be an island of black madness ..."

  "Aye," growled Goffanon. "It is, to say the least, inhospitable to Sidhi and Mabden alike."

  "You have been there, Goffanon?" Amergin asked gently.

  But Goffanon had become wary again. "Once," he said.

  "Black madness and red despair," put in Artek. "When we landed there we found ourselves unable to return to our ships. Disgusting forests grew up in our path. Mists engulfed us. Demons attacked us. All kinds of misshapen beasts lurked in wait for us. They destroyed all our children. They slew all our women and most of our menfolk. We are the only ones, of the whole race of Fyean, who survived—and that by luck, stumbling accidentally upon one of our ships and sailing directly for your shores.'' Artek shuddered. "Even if I knew my wife was still alive and trapped upon Ynys Scaith I would not return." Artek clenched his two hands together. "I could not."

  "She is dead," said Kawanh gently. He was comforting his leader. "I saw it happen."

  "How could we be sure that what we saw was in any way reality!" Artek's eyes filled with agony.

  "No," said Kawanh. "She is dead, Artek."

  "Aye," Artek's hands parted. His shoulders slumped. "She is dead."

  "Now you know why I would have no part of your idea," murmured Goffanon to Ilbrec.

  Corum looked away from the still shaking Artek of Clonghar. He looked at the two Sidhi. "Is that where you thought we should find allies, Ilbrec?"

  Ilbrec motioned with his hand, dismissing his own idea. "It was."

  "Nothing but evil comes from Ynys Scaith," Goffanon said. "Only evil, no matter how disguised."

  "I had not realized ..." Amergin reached out and touched Artek upon the shoulder. "Artek, I will give you a potion that will make you sleep and will ensure that you will not dream. In the morning you will be a man again."

  The sun was setting over the camp. Ilbrec and Corum walked toward the Sidhi's blue tent. From a score of cooking fires came the mingled smells of a variety of meals. Nearby a boy sang of heroes and great deeds in a high, melancholy voice. They entered the tent.

  "Poor Artek," said Corum. "What allies had you hoped to find on Ynys Scaith?"

  Ilbrec shrugged. "Oh, I thought that the inhabitants—certain of them, at least, might be bribed to side with us. I suppose that my judgement was poor, as Goffanon said."

  "Artek and his followers thought they saw me there," Corum told him. "They thought I was one of those who slew their companions."

  "That puzzles me," said Ilbrec. "I have heard of nothing like that before. Perhaps you do have a twin . . . Did you ever have a brother?"

  ''A brother?" Corum was reminded of the old woman's prophecy. "No. But I was warned to fear one. I thought the warning might apply to Gaynor who, spiritually in some ways, is a brother. Or whoever it is lying under the hill in the oak grove. But now I think that brother awaits me in Ynys Scaith."

  "Awaits you?" Ilbrec was alarmed. "You do not mean to visit the Isle of Shadows?"

  "It occurred to me that those powerful enough to destroy the best part of the people of Fyean, fearsome enough to terrify one as brave as Artek, would be good allies to have," said Corum. "Besides, I would face this 'brother' and discover who he is and why I should fear him."

  "It is unlikely that you would survive the dangers of Ynys Scaith," mused Ilbrec, seating himself in his great chair and drumming his fingers upon his table.

  "I am in a mood to take most risks with my own destiny," said Corum softly, "so long as it is not to the disadvantage to these Mabden we serve."

  "I, too." Ilbrec's sea-blue eyes met C
orum's eye. "But the Mabden march to Caer Llud the day after tomorrow and you must lead them in their war."

  "That is what stops me from sailing immediately to Ynys Scaith," said Corum. "That is all."

  "You fear not for your own life—your sanity—perhaps your soul?"

  "I am called Champion Eternal. What is death, or madness to me, who shall live many more lives than this? How can my soul be trapped if it is needed elsewhere? If anyone has the chance of visiting Ynys Scaith and returning, then surely it is Corum of the Silver Hand?"

  "Your logic has flaws," said Ilbrec. He looked broodingly into the middle-distance. "But you are right in one point—you are the best-fitted to seek Ynys Scaith."

  "And there I could attempt to employ its inhabitants in our service."

  "They would be of great use to us," admitted Ilbrec.

  Cold air came into the tent as the flap parted. Goffanon stood there, his axe upon his shoulder. "Good evening, my friends," he said.

  They greeted him. He sat himself down on Ilbrec's war-chest, placing his axe carefully beside him. He looked from Corum to Ilbrec and back again. He read something in both their faces that disturbed him. "Well," he said, "I hope you heard enough just now to dissuade you from the foolhardy scheme Ilbrec was considering earlier."