Chronicles of Corum (35 page)

Corum crossed the field, stepping over guy ropes and around the billowing walls of the tents on its way to Ilbrec's pavilion. He arrived, at last, outside the pavilion whose sea-blue silk rippled like little waves, and he called:

"Ilbrec! Son of Manannan, are you within?''

He was answered by a regular scraping noise which he was hard put, at first, to recognize, then he smiled, raising his voice:

"Ilbrec—I hear you preparing for battle. May I enter?"

The scraping noise ceased and the young giant's cheerful, booming voice replied:

"Enter, Corum. You are welcome."

Corum pushed aside the tent-flap. The only light within was the sunlight itself, piercing the silk, and giving the impression of a blue and watery cavern, not unlike part of Ilbrec's own domain beneath the waves. Ilbrec sat upon a great chest, his huge sword Retaliator across his knees. In his other hand was a whetstone with which he had been honing the sword. Ilbrec's golden hair hung in loose braids to his chest and today his beard was also plaited. He wore a simple green smock and sandals laced to his knees. In one corner of his tent lay his armor, his breastplate of bronze with its reliefs showing a great, stylized sun whose circle was filled with pictures of ships and of fish; his shield, which bore only the symbol of the sun; and his helmet, which had a similar motif. His lightly tanned arms had several heavy bracelets, both above and below the elbows; they were of gold and also matched the design of the breastplate. Ilbrec, son of the greatest of the Sidhi heroes, was a full sixteen feet high and perfectly proportioned.

Ilbrec grinned at Corum and began, again, to hone his sword.

"You look gloomy, friend."

Corum crossed the floor of the tent and stood beside Ilbrec's helmet, running his fleshly hand over the beautifully worked bronze. "Perhaps a premonition of my doom," he said.

"But you are immortal, are you not, Prince Corum?"

Corum turned at this new voice which was even younger in timbre than Ilbrec's.

A youth of no more than fourteen summers had entered the tent. Corum recognized him as King Fiachadh's youngest son, called Young Fean by all. Young Fean resembled his father in looks, but his body was lithe where King Fiachadh's was burly and his features were delicate where his father's were heavy. His hair was as red as Fiachadh's and he had something of the same humor almost constantly in his eyes. He smiled at Corum, and Corum, as he always did, thought there was no creature in the world more charming than this young warrior who had already proved himself one of the cleverest and most proficient knights in all the company gathered here.

Corum laughed."Possibly, Young Fean, aye. But somehow that thought does not console me."

Young Fean was sober for a moment, pushing back his light cloak of orange samite and removing his plain, steel helmet. He was sweating and had evidently just come from weapons practice. "I can understand that, Prince Corum." He made a slight bow in the direction of Ilbrec, who was plainly glad to see him. "Greetings to you, Lord Sidhi."

"Greetings, Young Fean. Is there some service I can do you?" Ilbrec continued to hone Retaliator with long, sweeping movements.

"None, I thank you. I merely came to talk." Young Fean hesitated, then replaced his helmet on his head. "But I see that I intrude."

"Not at all," said Corum. "How, in your opinion, do our men show."

"They are all good fighters. There is not one who is poor. But they are few, I think," said Young Fean.

"I agree with both your judgements,'' said Ilbrec. "I was considering the problem as I sat here."

"I have also discussed it," said Corum.

There was a long pause.

"But there is nowhere we can recruit more soldiers," said Young Fean, looking at Corum as if he hoped Corum would deny this statement.

"Nowhere at all," said Corum.

He noticed that Ilbrec said nothing and that the Sidhi giant was frowning.

"There is one place I heard of," said Ilbrec. "Long ago, when I was younger than Young Fean. A place where allies of the Sidhi might be found. But I heard, too, that it is a dangerous place, even for the Sidhi, and that the allies are fickle. I will consult with Goffanon later and ask him if he recalls more."

"Allies?" Young Fean laughed. "Supernatural allies? We have need of any allies, no matter how fickle."

"I will talk with Goffanon," said Ilbrec, and he returned to the honing of his sword.

Young Fean made to leave. "I will say nothing, then," he told them. "And I look forward to seeing you at the feast tonight."

When Young Fean had left Corum looked enquiringly at Ilbrec, but Ilbrec pretended an intense interest in honing his sword and would not meet Corum's eye.

Corum rubbed at his face. "I recall a time when I would have smiled at the very idea of magical forces at work in the world," he said.

Ilbrec nodded abstractedly, as if he did not really hear what Corum said.

''But now I have come to rely on such things.'' Corum's expression was ironic. "And must, perforce, believe in them. I have lost my faith in logic and the power of reason."

Ilbrec looked up. "Perhaps your logic was too narrow and your reason limited, friend Corum?" he said quietly.

"Maybe." Corum sighed and moved to follow Young Fean through the tent-flap. Then, suddenly, he stopped short, putting his head on one side and listening hard. "Did you hear that sound?"

Ilbrec listened. "There are many sounds in the camp."

"I thought I heard the sound of a harp playing."

Ilbrec shook his head. "Pipes—in the distance—but no harp." Then he frowned, listening again. "Possibly, very faint, the strains of a harp. No." He laughed."You are making me hear it, Corum.''

But Corum knew he had heard the Dagdagh harp for a few moments and he was, again, troubled. He said nothing more of it to Ilbrec, but went out of the tent and across the field, hearing a distant voice crying his name:

"Corum! Corum!"

He turned. Behind him a group of kilted warriors were resting, sharing a bottle and conversing amongst themselves. Beyond these warriors Corum saw Medhbh running over the grass. It was Medhbh he had heard.

She ran round the group of warriors and stopped a foot or so from him, hesitantly stretching out her arm and touching his shoulder."I sought you out in our chambers," she said softly, "but you had gone. We must not quarrel, Corum."

At once Corum's spirits lifted and he laughed and embraced her, careless of the warriors who had turned their attention upon the couple.

"We shall not quarrel again," he said. "Blame me, Medhbh.''

"Blame no one. Blame nothing. Unless it be Fate." She kissed him. Her lips were warm. They were soft. He forgot his fears.

"What a great power women have," he said. "I have recently been speaking with Ilbrec of magic, but the greatest magic of all is in the kiss of a woman."

She pretended astonishment. "You become sentimental, Sir Sidhi."

And again, momentarily, he sensed that she withdrew from him. Then she laughed and kissed him again. "Almost as sentimental as Medhbh!"

Hand in hand they wandered through the camp, waving to those they recognized or those who recognized them. At the edge of the camp several smithies had been set up. Furnaces roared as bellows forced their flames higher and higher. Hammers clanged on anvils. Huge, sweating men in aprons plunged iron into the fires and brought it out white and glowing and making the air shimmer. And in the center of all this activity was Goffanon, also in a great leathern apron, with a massive hammer in his hand, a pair of tongs in the other, deep in conversation with a black-bearded Mabden whom Corum recognized as the master smith Hisak, whose nickname was Sunthief, for it was said he stole the stuff of the sun itself and made bright weapons with it. In the nearby furnace a narrow piece of metal was immersed even now. Goffanon and Hisak watched this with considerable concentration as they talked and plainly it was this piece of metal they discussed.

Corum and Medhbh did not greet the two, but stood to one side and watched and listened.

"Six more heartbeats," they heard Hisak say, "and it will be ready."

Goffanon smiled. "Six and one-quarter heartbeats, believe me, Hisak."

"I believe you, Sidhi. I have learned to respect your wisdom and your skills."

Already Goffanon was extending his tongs into the fire. With a strange gentleness he gripped the metal and then swiftly withdrew it, his eye traveling up and down its length. "It is right," he said.

Hisak, too, inspected the white-hot metal, nodding."It is right.''

Goffanon's smile was almost ecstatic and he half turned, seeing Corum. "Aha, Prince Corum. You come at the perfect moment. See!" He lifted the strip of metal high. Now it glowed red hot, the color of fresh blood. "See, Corum! What do you see?"

"I see a sword blade."

"You see the finest sword blade made in Mabden lands. It has taken us a week to achieve this. Between us, Hisak and I have made it. It is a symbol of the old alliance between Mabden and Sidhi. Is it not fine?"

"It is very fine."

Goffanon swept the red sword back and forth through the air and the metal hummed. "It has yet to be fully tempered, but it is almost ready. It has yet to be given a name, but that will be left to you."

"To me?"

"Of course!" Goffanon laughed in delight. "Of course! It is your sword, Corum. It is the sword you will use when you lead the Mabden into battle."

"Mine?" Corum was taken aback.

''Our gift to you. Tonight, after the feast, we will return here and the sword will be ready for you. It will be a good friend to you, this sword, but only after you have named it will it be able to give you all its strength."

"I am honored, Goffanon," said Corum. "I had not guessed
..."

The great dwarf tossed the blade into a trough of water and steam hissed. "Half of Sidhi manufacture, half of Mabden. The right sword for you, Corum."

"Indeed." Corum agreed. He was deeply moved by Goffanon's revelation. "Indeed, you are right, Goffanon." He turned to look shyly at the grinning Hisak. "I thank you, Hisak. I thank you both."