' 'I will not,'' said Corum.' 'Not if I am careful in what I do now. Go. Goffanon will tell you the properties of this horn."
"Horns!" Jhary exclaimed. "I am sick of them. Horns for bringing the apocalypse, horns for calling demons—now horns for handling dogs! The gods grow unimaginative!" And with that peculiar observation he kicked his heels into the flanks of his horse and rode rapidly towards the tall stones of Craig Don, Goffanon loping behind him.
And Corum blew the horn once and though the Hounds of Kerenos pricked up their red, tufted ears, they still came running toward their quarry—running in a great pack made up of at least twoscore dogs. ITie Ghoolegh, mounted on pale horses, were, however, unsure. Corum could see that they hung back, where normally they would have chased behind the dogs.
Now the Hounds of Kerenos yelled in glee as they had Corum's scent and, veering slightly, sped toward him through the snow.
And Corum blew the horn a second time and the yellow eyes of the hounds, so close, so glaring, took on a somewhat puzzled expression.
Now other horns shouted as the Ghoolegh called their dogs off in panic, for they knew what would happen to them if the horn sounded a third time.
The Hounds of Kerenos were so near to Corum now that he could smell their stinking, steaming breath.
And suddenly they stopped in their tracks, whined and began reluctantly to trot back across the wind-blown snow to where the Ghoolegh waited.
And when the Hounds of Kerenos were in retreat, Corum blew the horn a third time.
He saw the Ghoolegh clutch their heads. He saw the Ghoolegh fall from their saddles. And he knew that they were dead, for the third blast of that horn always killed them—it was the punishing blast with which Kerenos slew those who failed to obey him.
The Hounds of Kerenos, whose last instructions had been to return, continued to lope back to where the dead Ghoolegh lay. And Corum whistled to himself as he tucked the horn into his belt and made for Craig Don at an almost leisurely gait.
"Perhaps it is sacrilege, but it is a convenient place to put him while we debate the problem.' ‘ Jhary looked down at Amergin who lay upon the great altar stone within the inner circle of columns. It was dark. A fire burned fitfully. "I cannot understand why he eats only the few pieces of fruit or vegetables we brought. It is as if his innards have become sheep's innards, too. If this continues, Corum, we shall deliver a dead High King to Caer Mahlod!"
"You spoke earlier of being able to reach through to his inner mind," Corum said. "Is that possible? If so, we can learn what to do to help him, perhaps."
' 'Aye, with the aid of my little cat I might be able to do that, but it will take much time and considerable energy. I would eat before I begin."
"By all means."
And then Jhary-a-Conel ate, and he fed his cat almost as much food as he consumed himself, while Corum and Goffanon ate only sparingly and poor Amergin ate nothing at all, for their supplies of dried fruit and vegetables were almost gone.
The moon peered for a moment through the clouds and it struck the altar with its rays and the costume of sheepskin gleamed. Then the moon went away again and the only light came from the flickering fire which flung red shadows among the old stones.
Jhary-a-Conel whispered to his cat. He stroked his cat and the cat purred. Slowly, the cat in his arms, he began to approach the altar where starved, wasted Amergin lay, breathing shallow breaths as he slept.
Jhary-a-Conel put the little winged cat's head against the head of Amergin and then he drew his own head down so that it touched the other side of the cat's head. Silence fell.
There came a bleating, loud and urgent, and it was impossible for the watchers to judge whether it came from Amergin's mouth, from the cat's, or from Jhary's.
The bleating died away.
It became darker as, untended, the fire died. Corum could see the dirty white form of Amergin upon the altar, the faint outline of the cat as it pressed its tiny skull to the High King's, the tense features of Jhary-a-Conel.
Jhary's voice: "Amergin . . . Amergin ... noble druid . . . pride of your folk . . . Amergin . . . Amergin . . . come back to us . . ." Another bleat, this time wavering and unsure. "Amergin ..."
Corum remembered the calling which had summoned him from his own world, the world of the Vadhagh, to this world. Jhary's incantation was not unlike that of King Mannach. And possibly this had something to do with Amergin's enchantment: he lived a different life entirely, the life of a sheep, perhaps in a world which was not quite this one. And if that were the case his 'real' self might be reached. Corum could not begin to understand what the people of this world called magic, but he knew something of the multiverse with its variety of planes which sometimes intersected, and he believed that their power probably derived from some half-conscious knowledge of these Realms.
"Amergin, High King . . . Amergin, Archdruid ..."
The bleating became fainter and at the same time seemed to assume the qualities of human speech.
"Amergin ..."
There was a catlike mewl, a distant voice which could have come from any one of the three upon the altar.
"Amergin of the family of Amergin . .. the knowledge-seekers . . ."
"Amergin." This was Jhary's voice, strained and strange. "Amergin. Do you understand your fate?"
"An enchantment. . . I am no longer a man . .. Why should this displease me . . . ?"
' 'Because your own folk need your guidance, your strength, your presence amongst them!"
"I am all things. .. we are all of us all things. . . it is immaterial, the form we take. .. the spirit..."
"Sometimes it is important, Amergin. As now, when the fate of the whole Mabden folk rests upon your assuming your former role. What will bring you back to your folk, Amergin? What power will restore you to them?"
"Only the power of the Oak and the Ram. Only the Oak Woman can call me home. If it matters to you that I return, then find the Golden Oak and the Silvern Ram, find one who understands their properties . . . Only—the Oak Woman—can—call me— home ..."
And then there came the agitated bleating of a sheep and Jhary fell back from the altar and the cat spread its wings and flew away to perch high on top of one of the great stone arches, crouching there as if in fear.
And the wind's melancholy voice came from the distance and the clouds seemed to grow darker in the sky and the bleating of a sheep filled the stone circle and then died away.
Goffanon was the first to speak, tugging at the hairs of his black beard, his voice a growl: "The Oak and the Ram. Two of what the Mabden term their Treasures'—Sidhi gifts, both. It seems to me that I recall something of them. One of the Mabden who came to my island spoke of them before he died." Goffanon shrugged. "Yet most Mabden who came to my island spoke of such things. It was their interest in talismans and spells which brought them to Hy-Breasail."
"What did he say?" Corum asked.
"Well, he told the tale of the lost Treasures—how the warrior Onragh fled with them from Caer Llud and how they were scattered. These two were lost close to the borders of the land of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir, which is north of the land of the Taha-na-Cremm Croich, across a sea—though there is a way by land, also. One of that folk found the Golden Oak and the Silvern Ram—large talismans both, of fine Sidhi workmanship—and took them back to his folk where they were held in great reverence and where, for all I know, they still are."
"So we must seek the Oak and the Ram before we can restore Amergin to his senses," said Jhary-a-Conel. He looked pale and exhausted. "Yet I fear he will die before we can achieve that. He needs nourishment and the only nourishment which will keep him properly alive is that grass which the Fhoi Myore vassals fed him. It is a grass containing certain magical agents which, while they kept him firmly under his enchantment, also supplied his body's primary needs. Unless he is restored to his human identity shortly, he will die, my friends."
Jhary-a-Conel spoke flatly and neither Corum nor Goffanon needed
to convince themselves of the truth of his words. It was evident, for one thing, that Amergin was beginning to waste away, particularly since their supplies of fruit and vegetables were all but gone.
"Yet we must go to the land of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garahir if we are to find those things which will save him," said Corum. '‘And he will surely die before we reach that land. It seems that we are defeated.'' He looked down at the pathetic sleeping figure of the one who had once been the symbol of Mabden pride.' 'We sought to save the High King. Instead, we have slain him."
THE FIFTH CHAPTER
DREAMS AND DECISIONS
Corum dreamed of a field of sheep; a pleasant scene, save when all the sheep looked up at once and had the faces of men and women he had known.
He dreamed that he ran for the safety of his old home, Castle Erom by the sea, but when he neared it he found that a great chasm had fallen between him and the entrance to the castle. He dreamed that he blew upon a horn and that this horn called all the gods to the Earth and the Earth became the field of their final battle. And he was consumed by an enormous sense of guilt, recalling many deeds which Corum awake could never recall: tragic deeds, the murder of friends and lovers, the betrayal of races, the destruction of the weak and of the innocent. And while a small voice reminded him that he had also destroyed the strong and the evil in his long career through a thousand incarnations, he was not consoled, for now he recalled Amergin and soon he would have Amergin's death upon his conscience. Once again his idealism had led to the destruction of another soul and he could not reconcile his tortured spirit.
And now gleeful music began to sound; mocking music, sweet music—the music of a harp.
And Corum turned from the chasm and he saw three figures standing there. One of the figures he recognized with pleasure. It was Medhbh, lovely Medhbh, in a smock of blue samite, with her red hair braided and bracelets of red gold upon her arms and ankles, a sword in one hand and a sling in the other. He smiled at her, but she did not return his smile. The figure next to her he also recognized now, and he recognized that figure with horror. It was a youth whose flesh shone with the color of pale gold. A youth who smiled without kindness and played upon the mocking harp.
Corum dreamed that he made to draw his sword, moving to attack the youth with the flesh of gold, but then the third figure advanced, raising a hand. This figure was the most shadowy of the three and Corum realized that he feared it more than he feared the youth with the harp, though he could not see the face at all. He saw that the raised hand was of silver and that the cloak the figure wore was of scarlet and then he turned his back again in horror, not daring to look upon the face because he was afraid he would see his own face there.
And Corum leapt into the chasm while the music of the harp grew louder and louder, more and more triumphant, and he fell through a night which had no ending.
And then there was a blinding whiteness which swallowed him and he realized that he had opened his eyes upon the dawn.
Slowly the great stones of Craig Don came into focus, dark and grim against the snow which surrounded them. He felt something gripping him and he tried to struggle free, fearing that Gaynor had found him, but then he heard Goffanon's deep voice saying: "It is over, Corum. You are awake."
Corum gasped. "Such dreadful dreams Goffanon ..."
"What else do you expect if you sleep at the center of Craig Don?" growled the Sidhi dwarf. "Particularly after witnessing Jhary-a-Conel's work of last night."
"It was similar to a dream I had when I first came to Hy-Breasail," Corum said, rubbing at his frozen face and taking deep breaths of cold air as if he hoped thus to dispel the memory of the dreams.
' 'Because Hy-Breasail has similar properties to Craig Don, there is every reason why your dreams should be the same," said Goffanon. He rose, his great bulk looming over Corum. "Though some have pleasant dreams at Craig Don, and others have magnificent, inspiring dreams, I'm told."
"I have need of such dreams at present," said Corum.
Goffanon shifted his war-axe from his right hand to his left and offered the free hand to Corum who took it and let the Sidhi Smith help him to his feet. Amergin still slept upon the altar, covered by a cloak, and Jhary slept near the ashes of the fire, his cat curled up close to his face.
"We must go to the land of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir," said Goffanon. "I have been considering the problem."
Corum smiled with his frozen lips. "You league yourself fully with our cause, then?"
Goffanon shrugged with poor grace. "It seems so. I've little choice. To reach that land we must go part of the way by sea. It will be the quickest way of making the journey."
‘ 'But we are much burdened, ‘' said Corum,' 'and will make slow progress with Amergin."
' 'Then one of us must take Amergin to the relative safety of Caer Mahlod," said Goffanon, "while the others make the longer journey to Caer Garanhir. Returning by sea, assuming that we have succeeded in finding the Golden Oak and the Silvern Ram, we should be able to get to Caer Mahlod with relative ease. It is the only way we have, if Amergin is to have even the faintest hope of living."
"Then it is the way we must take," said Corum simply.
Jhary-a-Conel had begun to stir. A hand reached out and found a wide-brimmed hat, cramming it on the head. He sat up, blinking. The cat made a small, complaining noise and curled itself sleepily upon his lap while Jhary stretched and rubbed at his eyes. ' 'How is Amergin?" he said. "I dreamed of him. He led a great gathering here, at Craig Don, and all the Mabden spoke with a single voice. It was a fine dream."
"Amergin still sleeps," said Corum. And he told Jhary what he and Goffanon had discussed.
Jhary nodded his agreement.' 'But which of us is to take Amergin to Caer Mahlod?" He got to his feet, cradling the black and white cat in his arm. "I think it should be me."
"Why so?"
"It is a simple task, for one thing, to travel from this point to another and deliver our sheepish friend. Secondly I play no important part in the destinies involved. The folk of Gwyddneu Garanhir are more likely to show respect for two Sidhi heroes than for one.' ‘
"Very well," Corum agreed, "you shall ride with Amergin for Caer Mahlod and there tell them all that has taken place and all we intend to do. Warn them, too, that the Fhoi Myore come again. With Amergin within the walls of Caer Mahlod, they could be saved from Balahr's frigid gaze and time might be bought as a result. Happily the Fhoi Myore do not travel with particular swiftness and there is a chance we can return before they reach Caer Mahlod ..."
"If they do, indeed, head for Caer Mahlod," said Goffanon. ' 'We know only that they plan to march West. It could even be that Craig Don itself is their destination, that they have some idea of destroying the place."
"Why do they fear it so?" Corum said. "Have they, any longer, the need?"
Goffanon rubbed at his beard. "Possibly," he said. "Craig Don was built by Sidhi and by Mabden both, at the time of our first great war with the Fhoi Myore. It was built according to certain metaphysical principles and it had several functions, both practical and symbolical. One of the practical functions was for it to act as a kind of trap which would swallow all the Fhoi Myore when they were lured here. It has the power—or, rather, it had the power—to restore those who do not belong in this Realm to the realms where they do belong. However, it does not work for the Sidhi or I should have departed this world long-since. It was our fate to accomplish its construction without being able to use it for our own ends. As it happened, we were not successful in luring all the Fhoi Myore here and ever since then, those who survived have given the place wide clearance. There are rituals involved, too . . ." Goffanon's expression became distant, as if he recalled the old days when he and all his brothers fought the might of the Fhoi Myore in their epic struggle. He looked out at the widening circles of stone columns.' 'Aye," he mused, "this was a place of great power once, was Craig Don."
Corum handed two things to Jhary-a-Conel. The first was the lo
ng, curved horn and the second was the Sidhi Mantle. "Take these," he said, "since you ride alone. The horn will protect you from the Hounds of Kerenos and the Ghoolegh huntsmen. The cloak will disguise you from the People of the Pines and others who pursue you. You will need both these things if you are to reach Caer Mahlod safely."
' 'But what of you and Goffanon? Will you not need protection?"
Corum shook his head. "We shall risk what we must risk. There are two of us and we are not burdened by Amergin,"
Jhary nodded. "I accept the gifts, then."
Soon they had mounted their horses and were riding through the stone arches, Goffanon running ahead with his war-axe upon his fur-clad shoulder, his helm of polished iron glinting in the cold light from the sky.
"Now you ride southwest and we ride northwest," said Corum. "Our ways will part soon, Jhary-a-Conel." "Let us pray they'll meet again." "Let us hope so."
They spurred their horses and rode together for a while, enjoying one another's company but speaking little.
And a little later Corum watched from his motionless horse as Jhary rode rapidly for Caer Mahlod, his cloak billowing behind him, the semi-conscious figure of the enchanted High King tied across his horse's neck.
Far across the snow-shrouded plain rode Jhary-a-Conel, growing smaller and smaller and finally becoming obscured by a gust of wind-borne snow, blotted from Corum's sight but not from his thoughts.
Jhary and Jhary's fate was often in Corum's mind as he rode for the coast, the tireless Goffanon loping always beside him.
And sometimes, too, Corum would recall the dream he had dreamed at Craig Don, and then he would ride still harder, as if he hoped to leave such memories behind him.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
A FLIGHT ACROSS THE WAVES
Corum wiped his forehead free from the sweat which clung to it and gratefully dropped his byrnie and his helm into the bottom of the small boat. The sun was high in a cloudless sky and while the day was actually only as warm as a day in early spring it seemed to be almost tropically hot to both Corum and Goffanon who, in their ride to the coast, had become used to the aching cold of those lands conquered by the Fhoi Myore. Corum was clad now only in his shirt and his leggings, his sword and dirk strapped about his waist and the rest of his war-gear tied across the back of his horse. He was reluctant to leave the horse behind him, but there was no easy means of transporting it across the ocean which gleamed ahead. The boat they had found was barely large enough to take Goffanon's great bulk, let alone Corum's.
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