Ilbrec murmured to Corum.' 'The sun is only just setting. Can we have been here such a short time?"
And Sactric laughed at him. "Is two months a short time in your terms?"
"Two months? What mean you?" Corum made a movement toward Sactric.
"I mean only that the passage of time on Ynys Scaith and the passage of time in your world proceed at different speeds. Effectively, Corum Llaw Ereint, you have been here for at least two months."
THE THIRD CHAPTER
A SHIP COMES SAILING TO THE ISLE OF SHADOWS
"Ah, Ilbrec," said Corum to his friend, "then how have the Mabden fared against the Fhoi Myore?"
Ilbrec could not reply to this. Instead he shook his head, saying: "Goffanon spoke the truth. We were fools. We should not have come here."
"At least we are all agreed in one thing," came Sactric's dry voice from the shadows. The gems in his crown glinted as he moved. "And having heard that admission I am inclined to spare your lives for a while. Moreover I shall grant you the freedom of this island you call Ynys Scaith." Then, rather more casually than would seem necessary to him, he added, "You know one named Goffanon?"
"We do," said Ilbrec. "He warned us against coming here." "Goffanon is sensible, it seems."
"Aye. It seems so," said Corum. He was still angry, still bewildered, still considering attacking Sactric, though he guessed he would have little satisfaction even if he managed to put to the sword that already dead body. "You are acquainted with him?"
"He visited us once. Now we must deal with your horse." Sactric's eyes began to glow red as he gestured toward Splendid Mane. Ilbrec cried out and ran to his steed but already Splendid Mane's pupils became fixed and glazed and the horse was frozen to the spot.
"He is not harmed," said Sactric. "He is too valuable for that. When you are dead, we shall use him."
"If he will let you," muttered Ilbrec ferociously, into his beard.
Then the Malibann withdrew into the deeper shadows and were gone.
Listlessly the two heroes climbed through the ruins and out into what remained of the evening light. Now they saw the island for what it really was. Save for the hill (at whose foot they now stood) and the single pine, the rest of the island was a wasteland of flotsam, of carrion, of decaying stone, vegetation, metal, and bones. Here were the remains of all the ships which had ever landed on the shores of Ynys Scaith, and here were the remains, too, of their cargoes and their crews. Rusting armor and weapons lay all about; yellow bones of men and of their beasts were much in evidence, some complete skeletons, some scattered, while occasionally Corum and Ilbrec came upon a pile consisting entirely of skulls or another pile consisting of rib-cages. Weather-rotted fabrics, silks, woolens, cotton garments, fluttered in the chill wind which also bore a faint, terrible stink of putrefaction; leather breastplates, jerkins, caps, horse furniture, boots and gauntlets, were cracked, disintegrating. Iron and bronze and brass weapons lay rusted together in heaps, jewels had lost their sheen and looked sickly, as if they, too, rotted; gray ash blew like an ever-moving tide across these scenes and nowhere was there any evidence of a living creature, not even a raven or a cur to feast upon those bodies still fresh enough to have flesh on their bones.
"In a way I prefer the Malibann illusions," said Ilbrec, "for all that they were terrifying and came close to killing us!"
"The reality is in a sense more terrifying," murmured Corum, pulling his cloak about him as he stumbled over the waste of detritus, following Ilbrec. The night was closing in and Corum did not look forward to spending it surrounded by so much evidence of death.
Ilbrec's eye had been casting through the gloom as the giant had walked, and now it fixed on something. Ilbrec paused, changed his direction a little, and plunged through rubble until he came to an overturned chariot which still had the bones of a horse between its shafts. He reached into the chariot and the skeleton of the driver fell with a clatter at the movement. Ignoring this, Ilbrec straightened his back, holding something dusty and shapeless in his hand. He frowned.
"What have you found, Ilbrec?" Corum asked, reaching his companion's side.
"I am not sure, Vadhagh friend."
Corum inspected Ilbrec's discovery. It was an old saddle of cracked leather; its straps did not seem strong enough to hold it to the lightest of horses. The buckles were dull, rusty and half falling off, and altogether Corum considered it the most worthless of discoveries.
"An old saddle . . ."
"Just so."
"Splendid Mane has a good saddle of his own. Besides, that would not fit him. It is made for a mortal horse."
Ilbrec nodded. "As you say, it would not fit him." But he held onto the saddle as they made their way down to the beach and found a place relatively clear of debris, settling down to rest, since there was little else to do that night.
But before he went to sleep, Ilbrec sat cross-legged turning the old saddle over and over in his great hands. And once Corum heard him murmur:
"Are we all that are left, we two? Are we the last?" And then the morning dawned.
First the water was white and wide and then it turned slowly to scarlet, as if some great dying sea-beast beneath the surface were spreading its life-blood in its final throes, and it pulsed as the red sun rose, making the sky blossom with deep yellows and watery purples and a flat, rich orange.
And the magnificence of this sunrise further emphasized the contrast between the calm beauty of the ocean and the island which it surrounded, for the island had the appearance of a place where all civilizations had come to dump their unwanted waste, an elaborate version of a farmer's dung-heap. And this was Ynys Scaith with all its glamors gone, this was what Sactric had called the Empire of Malibann.
The two men rose slowly and stretched painfully, for their sleep had not been peaceful. Corum flexed first the fingers of his artificial silver hand, then he flexed the fingers of his fleshly hand, which had become so numb it was almost impossible to tell apart from the unnatural one. He straightened his back and groaned, grateful for the wind from the sea which blew away the stink of putrefaction and brought instead a cleansing brine. He rubbed at his eye sockets. The one which lay under the patch itched and seemed a trifle inflamed. He pushed back the patch to let the air get at it, the white, milky scar revealed. Normally he spared himself and others the pain of exposing the wound. Ilbrec had unbraided his golden hair and combed it; now he was plaiting the hair again, weaving in threads of red gold and yellow silver: these braids, thick and strengthened by metal, were the only protection he had for his head, for it was his pride never to fight with a helmet upon his locks.
Then both men walked down to the edge of the sea and washed themselves as best they could in the salt water. The water was cold.
Corum could not help wondering if soon it would be frozen. Had the Fhoi Myore already consolidated their victories? Was Bro-an-Mabden now nothing but a dead waste of ice from shore to shore?
"Look," said Ilbrec. "Can you see it, Corum?" The Vadhagh Prince raised his head but could see nothing on the horizon.
"What did you think you saw, Ilbrec?"
' 'I can still see it—a sail, I am sure, corning from the direction of Bro-an-Mabden.''
"I trust it is not friends bent on our rescue," Corum said miserably. "I would not wish others to fall into this trap."
' 'Perhaps the Mabden were victorious at Caer Llud, ‘ ‘ said Ilbrec. "Perhaps we see the first of a squadron of ships armed with Amergin's full magic."
But Ilbrec's words were hollow and Corum could feel no hope. ' 'If it is a ship you see," he said,' 'I fear it brings further doom to us and those we love." And now he thought he, too, could see a dark sail on the horizon. A ship moving at considerable speed.
"And there—" Ilbrec pointed again—"is that not a second sail?"
Sure enough, for a moment Corum thought he detected another sail, a smaller sail, as if a skiff followed in the wake of the galley, but he did not see it after the first few moments and g
uessed that it had been a trick of the light.
In trepidation they watched the ship approach. It had a high, curved prow, with a figurehead in the shape of an elongated lion, inlaid with silver, gold and mother-of-pearl. Its oars were shipped and it sailed by the power of the wind alone, its huge black and red sail taut at the mast, and soon there was no question in their minds that it did head for Ynys Scaith. Both Ilbrec and Corum began to shout and yell to the ship, trying to warn it to circumnavigate the island and go on to a more favorable landing place, but its movement was implacable. They saw it go past a promontory and disappear, plainly with the idea of anchoring in the bay. At once, and without ceremony, Ilbrec picked Corum up and placed the Vadhagh upon his shoulders, setting off at a loping pace toward the place where the ship had last been seen. They covered the ground swiftly, for all the debris in their path, and finally Ilbrec arrived, panting, at a natural harbor, in time to see a small boat putting out from the ship, whose sail was now furled.
There were three figures in the boat, but only one, swathed in bulky furs, was rowing. His companions sat in the prow and the stem respectively and they, too, were muffled in heavy capes.
Well before the three men had landed, Ilbrec and Corum had plunged into the sea and were waist-deep, yelling at the tops of their voices.
"Go back! Go back! This is a land of terror!" cried Ilbrec.
"This is Ynys Scaith, the isle of shadows. All mortals who land here are doomed!" Corum warned them.
But the bulky figure continued to row and his companions made no sign that they had heard the shouted words, so that Corum began to wonder if the Malibann had already enchanted the newcomers.
At last Corum and Ilbrec reached the boat itself as it came close to the shore. Corum clung to the side while Ilbrec towered over the boat, looking for all the world like the sea-god his father had been in the legends of the Mabden.
"It is dangerous," boomed Ilbrec. "Can you not hear me?"
"I fear they cannot," said Corum. "I fear they are under a glamor, just as we were."
And then the figure in the prow pushed back his hood and smiled. "Not at all, Corum Jhaelen Irsei. Or, at least, extremely unlikely. Do you not recognize us?"
Corum knew the face well. He recognized the old, handsome features framed by long, grey ringlets and the thick, grey beard; he recognized the hard, blue eyes, the thick, curved lips, the golden collar, inset with jewels, at the throat and the matching jewels on the long, slender fingers. He recognized the warm, mellow voice which was full of a profound wisdom gained at considerable expense of time and mental energy. He recognized the Wizard Calatin whom he had first met in Laahr forest when he had sought the spear, Bryionak, all that long time ago in what seemed to him now to be a happier period of his life.
And at the moment Corum recognized his old enemy Calatin, Ilbrec said in a voice which shook:
"Goffanon! Goffanon!"
For sure enough the bulky figure who had rowed the boat was none other than the Sidhi dwarf, Goffanon of Hy-Breasail, and there was a glassy look in his eyes and his face was slack; but he spoke and said:
"Goffanon serves Calatin again."
' 'He has you in his power! Oh, I knew that I did not welcome that sail."
Then Corum said urgently: "Even you, Calatin, cannot survive on Ynys Scaith. The people here have enormous powers for the making of lethal illusions. Let us all return to your ship and sail away from here, there to settle our disputes in a pleasanter clime.’'
Calatin looked around him. He looked at the third figure in the boat who had not revealed his face but kept it thoroughly hidden in his hood. "I find nothing to say against this island," he said.
"It is because you do not see it for what it is," Corum insisted. "Make a bargain, Calatin, to take us back to your ship ..."
Calatin shook his head and smoothed his grey beard.' I think not. I am tired of sailing. I have never been at my best while crossing water. We shall disembark."
"I warn you, wizard," grumbled Ilbrec, "that the moment you set foot on this land, you are as doomed as all the other wretches who preceded you."
"We shall see. Goffanon, drag the boat high onto the beach so that I shall not wet my garments when I leave the boat."
Obediently Goffanon clambered from the boat and began to haul it through the water and thence onto the beach while Corum and Ilbrec watched helplessly.
Then Calatin stepped elegantly onto the beach and looked around him, stretching his arms so that the surcoat, covered all over in occult symbols, was revealed. He took a deep, appreciative breath of the tainted air, then snapped his fingers, whereupon the other figure, still completely muffled and unrecognizable, rose from the seat in the stern and joined Calatin and Goffanon.
For a moment they stood there, confronting one another with the boat separating them.
"I hope that you are fugitives," said Ilbrec at last. "From the Mabden victory over the Fhoi Myore."
And Calatin smiled and hid his lips with his bejewelled hand.
"Are your Fhoi Myore masters all dead, then ..." Corum said aggressively, but without much conviction.
"The Fhoi Myore are not my masters, Corum," replied Calatin chidingly, softly. "They are my sometime allies. We work to our mutual advantage.''
"You speak as if they are still alive."
"Still alive, aye. They are alive, Corum." Calatin voiced these words in the same controlled tone, his blue eyes full of humor and malice. "And triumphant. And victorious. They hold Caer Llud and now pursue what remains of the Mabden army. Soon all the Mabden will be dead, I fear."
"So we did not win at Caer Llud?"
"Did you expect that you could? Shall I tell you some of those who died there?"
Corum shook his head, turning away, but then he groaned. "Very well, wizard, who died?"
"King Mannach died there, his own battle-standard driven through his body. You knew King Mannach, I believe."
"I knew him. I honor him now."
"And King Fiachadh? Another friend?"
"What of King Fiachadh?"
"He was a prisoner for a few hours, I understand, of my lady Goim."
"Of Goim?" Corum shuddered. He recalled the stories he had heard of the female Fhoi Myore's horrible tastes. "And his son, Young Fean?"
"He shared his father's fate, I believe."
"What others?" whispered Corum.
"Oh, there were many. Many of the Mabden's heroes."
Goffanon said in distant, unnatural tones:
"Ayan the Hairy-handed's friend, the Branch Hero, was torn to pieces by the Hounds of Kerenos, as were Fionha and Cahleen, the warrior-maidens . . .
' 'And of the Five Knights of Eralskee only the youngest remains alive, if the cold has not taken him by now. He fled on a horse, pursued by Prince Gaynor and the People of the Pines," continued Calatin with relish. "And King Daffyn lost his legs and froze to death not a mile from Caer Llud—he had crawled that mile. We saw his body on our way here. And King Khonun of the Tuha-na-Anu we found hanging from a tree not ten yards from him, discovered by the Ghoolegh we think. And do you know of one called Kernyn the Ragged, a man of singular dress and unsanitary habits?"
"I know Kernyn the Ragged," said Corum.
"With a group of those he led, Kernyn was found by my lord Balahr's eye and froze to death before he could strike a single blow."
"Who else?"
''King Ghachbes was slain, and Grynion Ox-rider, and Clar from Beyond the West, and the Red Fox, Meyahn, and the two Shamanes, both the Tall and the Short, and Uther of the Melancholy Dale. Also were slain in great numbers warriors of all the Mabden tribes. And Pwyll Spinebreaker was wounded, probably mortally. The same is true of Old Dylann and Sheonan Axe-maiden and perhaps Morkyan of the Two Smiles ..."
"Stop," said Corum. "Are none of the Mabden left alive?"
"By now I would think it unlikely, though we have traveled for some time. They had little food and were heading for Craig Don, where they could be sure of temporary
sanctuary, but they will starve there. They will die at their holy place. Perhaps it is all they want. They know their time upon the earth is over."
"But you are a Mabden," said Ilbrec. "You speak of the race as if it were not your own."
"I am Calatin," said the wizard, as if addressing a child, "and I have no race. Once I had a family, that was all. And the family has gone, too."
"Sent to its deaths on your behalf, as I recall," Corum said savagely.
"They were dutiful sons, if that is what you mean." Calatin laughed lightly. "But I have no natural heirs, it is true."
"And having none of your own, you would see the whole race die?"
"Perhaps that is my motive for doing what I do," agreed Calatin equably. "There again, an immortal has no need of heirs, has he?"
"You are immortal?" "I hope so."
"By what means did you achieve this?" Corum asked him.
"By the means you know. By choosing my allies properly and using my skills wisely."
"And is that why you visit Ynys Scaith, in the hope of finding more allies, even more despicable than the Fhoi Myore?" said Ilbrec, putting his hand upon the hilt of his sword. ' 'Well, I should warn you that the Malibann have no need of the likes of you and that they will deal with you as they have dealt with us. We have had no luck in convincing them to come to our aid."
"That does not surprise me." Calatin's tone was still equable.
‘ 'They will destroy you when they destroy us," said Corum with a certain grim satisfaction.
"I think not."
' 'Why so?" Ilbrec glowered at the wizard who held his old friend Goffanon in thrall. "Why so, Calatin?"
"Because this is by no means my first visit to Ynys Scaith." He gestured toward the cowled figure on his right.' 'You said I have no heirs, but it was on Ynys Scaith, with the help of the Malibann, that my son was born. I like to think of him as my son. And it was on Ynys Scaith that I learned many new powers."
"Then it is you!" said Ilbrec. "You are the ally of the Malibann—the one they mentioned." "I think I must be."
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