The Sword and the Stallion - 06

by Michael Moorcock

  He shrugged and handed her the beautifully wrought silver thing. "You must let me have it back soon," he said, "for it will not be long before I go to do battle with the Fhoi Myore."

  She nodded. "Soon, Corum." And she darted at him a look of considerable affection so that again his heart was lightened and he was able to smile. Then she took his silver hand into her small tent of skins, to the left of the altar, while Corum discussed the problems of the moment with Amergin, Ilbrec, Goffanon, Jhary-a-Conel, Morkyan of the Two Smiles, and the other remaining Mabden war-knights.

  By the time Medhbh had returned and given Corum back the metal hand, offering him a reassuring and significant glance, they had determined what their best course of action would be.

  With Terhali's help, Sactric would conjure a vast illusion, to transform Craig Don into a form which the Fhoi Myore would not fear, but before that could be engineered, the Mabden must risk the few warriors they had left in a final attack upon the Cold Folk and their vassals.

  "We take a considerable risk," said Amergin, watching Corum strap the silver hand back upon his wrist, "and we must be prepared for the possibility that none of us will survive. We might all be dead before Sactric and Terhali can keep their part of our bargain."

  And Corum looked at Medhbh and he saw that she loved him again, and the prospect of dying saddened him then.

  THE THIRD CHAPTER

  THE STRUGGLE AGAINST OLD NIGHT

  And now they went, for the last time, upon the Fhoi Myore, and they were proud in their ragged armor and they carried their shredded standards high. Chariots moaned as their wheels began to turn; horses stamped upon the ground and snorted, and the booted feet of marching men began to mump like the beating of a martial drum. Pipes skirled, fifes wailed, tabors rattled, and all that remained of the Mabden strength poured out of the sanctuary of Craig Don to do battle with the Cold Folk.

  And all that remained, perched upon the old stone altar, were a small black and white cat and a box of bronze and gold.

  Corum led them, riding the Yellow Stallion, the moon-colored sword Traitor in his hand of flesh, a round war-board upon his left arm, and two javelins in his silver hand (with which he also held the reins of the yellow steed). And Corum felt the power and the confidence of the horse he rode and he was glad. And on one side of Corum rode the High King, the Archdruid Amergin, disdaining armor and clad in flowing robes of blue over which were draped furs of ermine and the skin of the winter doe, and on the other side of Corum rode the proud Queen Medhbh, all in stiff armor, her crown upon her shining helm, her red hair flowing free and mingling with the heavy furs of the bear and the wolf, her sling at her belt and her sword in her hand; she smiled once at Corum before he had ridden past the last stone circle and into the thickness of the mist, calling:

  "Fhoi Myore! Fhoi Myore! Here is Corum come to destroy you!"

  And the Yellow Stallion opened its ugly mouth and displayed discoloured teeth and from its curling lips there issued a peculiar noise that was like nothing but defiant, sardonic laughter, and then it leapt forward suddenly and it was plain its marigold-colored eyes could see easily through the mist, for it carried Corum surely toward his enemies, as it had carried its old master Laegaire into the last and ninth of his fights, at Slieve Gullion.

  "Hai, Fhoi Myore! You'll not hide for long in your mist!" Corum called, drawing his fur collar around his mouth to keep out as much of the cold as he could.

  For a moment he saw a huge, dark shape looming close by, but then it had gone again, and then he heard the familiar creak of wicker, the shambling sounds of the Fhoi Myore's malformed beasts of burden, and then he heard soft laughter that was not Fhoi Myore laughter, and he turned and he saw what at first appeared to be a fire flickering, but it was the armor of Prince Gaynor the Damned, glowing crimson and yellow and then scarlet, and behind Gaynor rode a score of Pine Warriors, their pale green faces set, their green eyes glaring, their green bodies astride green horses. Corum turned to face them, hearing Ilbrec's voice shouting to Goffanon from another part of the field:

  "Beware, Goffanon, it is Goim!"

  But Corum could not see how Ilbrec and Goffanon fared against the horrid female Fhoi Myore, and he had no time to call out, for now Prince Gaynor came charging down, and he heard only the old, familiar note of the horn which Goffanon blew again to confuse the Ghoolegh and the Hounds of Kerenos.

  The Arms of Chaos, the eight-arrowed sign, burned bright on Gaynor's breastplate as he charged, and the sword in his hand shifted its colors from gold to silver and then to sky-blue, while Gaynor's bitter laughter sounded from behind his featureless helm and he sang out:

  "Now I face you at last, Corum, for this is the time!"

  And Corum raised his round shield and Gaynor's flickering sword bit hard into the silver rim and Corum struck with his own moon-colored sword Traitor at Gaynor's helm and Gaynor yelled as the blade almost pierced the metal.

  Gaynor dragged his sword free and hesitated. "You have a new sword, Corum?"

  "Aye. It is called Traitor. Is it not fine, Gaynor?" Corum laughed, knowing his old enemy to be disconcerted.

  "I do not think it is your destiny to defeat me in this fight, brother," said Gaynor thoughtfully.

  Elsewhere Medhbh was engaged with half a score of Ghoolegh, but was giving a good account of herself, Corum saw, before the mist obscured her again.

  "Why call me brother?" Corum said.

  'Because our fates are so closely linked. Because we are what we are . . ."

  And Corum wondered again if the old woman's prophecy had referred to Gaynor as the one he must fear. Fear beauty, she had said, fear a harp, and fear a brother ...

  And with a yell Corum urged his laughing horse at Gaynor, and Traitor struck again and seemed to pierce the armor protecting Gaynor's shoulder so that Gaynor shrieked and his armor burned an angry crimson. Thrice he struck back at Corum while the Vadhagh Prince tried to dislodge his sword from Gaynor's shoulder, but all three blows landed on Coram's shield and succeeded only in numbing Coram's arm.

  I like this not,' ‘ said Gaynor. T knew nothing of a sword called Traitor." But then he seemed to pause and speak in a different, more hopeful tone. 'Would it kill me, do you think, Corum?"

  Corum shrugged. "You must ask Goffanon the Sidhi smith that question. He forged the blade."

  But Gaynor was already turning his horse about, for Mabden with brands had emerged from the mist and with fire were driving the Pine Warriors back, for that part of the warriors that was brother to the tree feared fire above all else. And Gaynor called to his men to rally, to press the attack against the Mabden, and soon he was lost in the midst of the Pine Warriors, once more abdicating from a direct conflict with Corum, for Corum was the only mortal who could fill Gaynor the Damned with terror.

  And for an instant Corum found himself alone, knowing not where his enemies lurked or where his friends were, but hearing the sounds of battle all around him in the chilling mist.

  And then from behind him he heard a small groaning noise which grew until it became a sort of bleat, and then a deep, melancholy honking, at once stupid and menacing, and Corum remembered that voice and knew that Balahr sought him, remembering how Corum had once wounded him. And he heard the creaking of a great wicker battle-cart, and there came to his nostrils the stink of sickness, the odor of diseased flesh, and he controlled his wish to flee away from the source of that stink, and he readied himself at last to face the Fhoi Myore. The Yellow Stallion reared once, its hooves lashing at the air, then became quiet and tense, watching the mist with its warm, intelligent eyes.

  Corum saw a black shape approaching; it moved with a lurching, unsteady gait as if two legs on one side were shorter than the others; large, blubbery lumps jutted from its body and its head lolled as if its neck had been snapped. Corum saw a red, toothless mouth, watery eyes set asymmetrically on the left side of its head, blue-green nostrils blowing shreds and scraps of leathery skin with every exhalation as, painfully, it
dragged its master's chariot behind it. And in the chariot, steadying itself by means of one grotesque arm braced against the wicker wall, its body all covered in a kind of wiry, matted fur spotted with patches of something resembling the moid which grows on decaying food, with patches of bare skin bearing a form of flaking yellow eczema, stood Balahr, booming out his insensate anger. And Balahr's face was red, as if something had chewed it, and there were sores on it and pieces of raw flesh on it, and in places the bones showed through it, for Balahr, like his fellows, was slowly dying of a dreadful, rotting disease, the result of their inhabiting this alien plane for too long. And on Balahr's left cheek something opened and closed and it was Balahr's mouth, and, above the mouth and the eaten-away nose, there was a single huge lid of dead flesh covering Balahr's terrible, freezing eye, and from the eyelid there ran a wire secured to the flesh by a great hook, and the wire had been passed over Balahr's skull and under his arm pit and the end of the wire was held in Balahr's hand, his two-fingered hand.

  The honking became more agitated, the head turned, seeking out Corum and Corum thought he heard his own name issue from Balahr's lips, he thought they formed the word "Corum," but he guessed that this was his imagination.

  Then, without Corum's urging, the Yellow Stallion leapt forward, even as Balahr began to move his hand to open his single eye. The horse jumped and it was on one side of the giant, immediately below it, and Corum was able to swing himself from his saddle and take hold of the side of the cart and drag himself up and plunge the first of his javelins deep into the rotting flesh of Balahr's groin.

  Balahr grunted in surprise and began to feel around for the source of the pain. Corum drove the second javelin as hard as he could into Balahr's chest.

  Balahr found the first javelin and plucked it out, but he plainly had not noticed the second. Again he began to tug at the wire which would open his lethal eye.

  And Corum jumped and took hold of a handful of Balahr's wiry hair, clambering up the giant's thigh, almost losing his grip as the hair was wrenched free from the flesh and Balahr shook himself, just as Corum plunged his sword into the Fhoi Myore's back and clung on to the hilt, swinging, for a moment, free in the air.

  Balahr snorted and honked, but kept his two-fingered hand upon the wire which would open his eye, slapping at his back with his other hand, and Corum managed to get another purchase in the hair and began to climb again.

  Balahr swayed in the chariot and the beast which dragged the chariot seemed to interpret this as a signal to move so that suddenly Balahr was swaying and the chariot was moving and the Fhoi Myore was almost flung backwards from the platform but, with one awkward movement, was able to steady himself again.

  And Corum scrambled higher up the back, choking on the stink of the diseased flesh, until he reached the wire at the point where it ran under Balahrs arm pit. And then Corum raised his sword Traitor and he hacked at the wire. Once, twice, thrice, he hacked, while Balahr honked and swayed and blew out huge clouds of foul, misty breath, and then the wire was severed.

  But with the wire broken Balahr had two hands free and he used them to find Corum so that suddenly Corum was engulfed by a great, crushing fist and his arms were trapped so that he could not use his moon-colored sword.

  And then Balahr grunted and lowered his head and Corum, looking down also, saw that the Yellow Stallion was there, lashing at Balahr's misshapen legs with his hooves.

  The Fhoi Myore was not intelligent enough to concentrate on both Corum and the horse and it began to bend, groping for its new attacker, his grip on Corum weakening so that the Vadhagh Prince was able to struggle free, hacking at the fingers as he did so. One finger fell to the ground and sticky ichor began to ooze from the wound, and then Corum was falling, to land flat on his back, all the breath knocked from him. Painfully he got up and he saw that the Yellow Stallion stood near him and mere was humor in its eyes. And Balahr's battle-cart was creaking and moving off into the mist again, its occupant honking in a strange, high tone which, at that moment, filled Corum with a feeling of deep sympathy for the creature.

  He got back into the saddle, wincing as he realized to what extent he had been bruised by his fall, and at once the Yellow Stallion was galloping again, passing shadowy groups of fighting men, the monstrous shapes of the Fhoi Myore. He saw horns glinting high above him; he saw a face which resembled a wolf's, he saw white teeth, and he knew that this was the chief of the Fhoi Myore, Kerenos, howling like one of his own hounds and striking about him with a huge, crude sword, striking at an attacker who sang a wild, beautiful song as he fought, whose golden hair shone like the sun, who rode a massive black horse which was clad in red and gilded leather and sea-ivory and pearls. It was Ilbrec, son of Manannan, on his horse Splendid Mane, his shining sword Retaliator in his hand, doing battle with Kerenos, as his Sidhi ancestors had done battle in the old times when they had answered the Mabden call for help and ridden to rid this world of Chaos and Old Night. And then Corum had gone past them, glimpsing Goim, with her hag's face and her filed teeth, snatching with clawed hands at the black-bearded dwarf Goffanon, who yelled at her as he whirled his axe, and hurled insults at the gigantic crone.

  Corum wanted to stop, to aid his old comrades, but the Yellow Stallion bore him onward to a place where Queen Medhbh stood over the corpse of her own horse and lashed out at half-a-dozen red-eared hounds who surrounded her. Into these rode Corum, bending low in his saddle and slitting open the bellies of two of the beasts without pausing, calling out to the woman he loved;

  "Climb up behind me, Medhbh! Hurry!"

  And Queen Medhbh did as he bid her and the Yellow Stallion did not seem to notice the extra weight at all but opened its mouth to laugh again at the hounds snapping all around him.

  And then all at once the mist was gone and they were in an oak wood and each oak flamed with a fire which had no heat, afire of intense brightness, illuminating the battle and making all those who fought lower their weapons and gape, and there was no snow to be seen anywhere.

  And five monstrous figures, in five rudely-made chariots drawn by five grotesque beasts, covered their malformed heads and wailed in pain and fear.

  For all he guessed the origin of the enchantment, Corum felt alarm growing within him, and he turned in his saddle and he held Medhbh close, and he was overwhelmed by a profound sense of misgiving.

  Now the Fhoi Myore vassals milled about in confusion, looking to their leaders for guidance, but the Fhoi Myore themselves honked and groaned and shuddered, for the combination of oak-tree and fire was probably what they feared most upon this plane.

  Goffanon came limping up, using his axe to help him walk. His body bled from a dozen long wounds he had got from Goim's claws, but that was not the reason his face was so grim.

  "Well," he growled, "Sactric conjures no arbitrary glamor. Oh, how I fear that knowledge of his."

  And Corum could only nod his agreement.

  THE FOURTH CHAPTER

  THE POWER OF CRAIG DON

  "Once such a strength of illusion is introduced into a world," said Goffanon, "then it is hard to be rid of it. It will cloud the Mabden minds for many millennia to come. I know that I am right."

  Queen Medhbh laughed at him. "I think you relish gloomy thoughts, old smith. Amergin will help the Malibann and that will be an end to it. Our world will be rid of all her enemies 1"

  "There are subtler enemies," said Goffanon, "and the worst of all is that unreality which mars clear-sighted judgement of things as they are."

  But Medhbh shrugged and dismissed his words, pointing to where the Fhoi Myore were urging their chariots away from the conflict, seeking to escape the flaming oaks.' 'There! Our enemies flee!"

  Ilbrec came riding up, his face all flushed, his fair skin bearing the marks of the fight. He laughed. "We did well, after all, to seek help on Ynys Scaith!"

  But neither Corum nor Goffanon answered him and so Ilbrec rode on, leaning over in his saddle and chopping casually at the heads of Pine War
riors and Ghoolegh as he went by. None attacked him, for the Fhoi Myore vassals were too confused.

  Then, as Medhbh dismounted from the Yellow Stallion and went to catch a horse she had observed nearby, Corum saw Prince Gaynor the Damned riding through the burning oak-wood toward him and, about thirty feet away, Prince Gaynor drew rein.

  "What's this?" he asked. "Who aids you, Corum?"

  "It would be unwise to tell you, Gaynor the Damned, I think," replied Corum.

  He heard Gaynor sigh. "Well, all you have done is to make another sanctuary for yourselves, like Craig Don. We shall wait on the edges of this place and you will begin to starve again. What have you gained?"

  "I do not know, yet,'‘ said Corum.

  Prince Gaynor turned and began to ride away, in the wake of the disappearing Fhoi Myore. And now the Ghoolegh, the Hounds of Kerenos, the Pine Warriors—all those vassals who still survived— began to stream after Prince Gaynor.

  "What now?" said Goffanon. "Shall we follow?"

  "At a distance," said Corum. His own men were beginning to regroup. Scarce a hundred remained. Among them were Amergin, the High King, and Jhary-a-Conel, who had a wounded side. His face was very pale and there was agony in his eyes. Corum went to him, inspecting the wound.

  "I have put a salve on it," said Amergin, "but he needs better treatment than I can minister here ..."

  "It was Gaynor," said Jhary-a-Conel. "I did not see him in the mist, until too late."

  "I owe Gaynor much," said Corum. "Would you wait here or ride with us, after the Fhoi Myore?"

  "If their end is to come, I would witness it," said Jhary.

  "So be it," said Corum.

  And they all began to follow the retreating Fhoi Myore.

  So anxious were the Fhoi Myore and their followers to depart the burning oak-wood that they did not see Corum and the Mabden behind them. The only one who looked back and seemed evidently puzzled was Gaynor. Gaynor did not fear the oaks, he feared only Limbo.