Chronicles of Corum (46 page)

"Traitor," said Goffanon, and he laid a large hand against the wound in his shoulder.

Then Ilbrec said, apparently inconsequentially: "Now that you have a named sword, you will need a good horse. They are the first requisites of a war-knight."

"Aye, I suppose they are," said Corum. He sheathed the sword.

Sactric gestured impatiently. "What is the bargain you seek to make with the Malibann, Goffanon?"

Goffanon was still staring at Corum. "An apt name," he said, "but you give it a dark power now, not a light one."

"That must be," said Corum.

Goffanon shrugged and gave his attention to Sactric, speaking practically."I have what you want and it shall be yours, but you, in turn, must agree to help us against the Fhoi Myore. If we are successful and if our great Archdruid Amergin is still alive, and if we can recover the last of the Mabden treasures which still reside at Caer Llud, then we promise that we shall let you leave this plane and find another better suited to you."

Sactric nodded his mummified head. "If you can keep your bargain, we shall keep ours."

"Then," said Goffanon, "we must work speedily to accomplish the first part of our task, for time runs out for the beleaguered remnants of the Mabden army."

"Calatin spoke the truth?" said Corum.

"He spoke the truth."

Ilbrec said: "But Goffanon, we knew you to be wholly in the wizard's power while he held that bag of spittle. How could it be that you were at no time in his power on your journey here?"

Goffanon smiled. "Because the bag did not contain my spittle. . ."He was about to explain further when Sactric interrupted.

"Do you expect me to accompany you back to the mainland?"

"Aye," said Goffanon. "That will be necessary."

"You know it is hard for us to leave this island."

''But it is necessary," said Goffanon. "At least one of you must come with us and it should be the one in whom all the power of the Malibann is invested—namely yourself."

Sactric thought for a moment. "Then I will need a body," he said. "This one will not do for such a journey." He added:"Best if you are not trying to deceive the Malibann, Goffanon, as you deceived them once before . . ." His tone had become haughty again.

"It is not, this time, in my interest," said the dwarf. "But know you this, Sactric,
I
have no relish for making bargains with you and, if it were only my decision, I would perish rather than give you back what I stole from you. However the die has been cast so thoroughly that the only way to save the situation now is to continue with what my friends here started. But I think it will go ill for some of us, at least, when your full power is restored to you."

Sactric shrugged his flaking, leathery shoulders. "I would not deny that, Sidhi," he said.

"The question remains," said Ilbrec, "how is Sactric to travel beyond Ynys Scaith if the world outside is inhospitable to him?"

"I need a body." Sactric looked speculatively at the three and caused Corum, at least, to shudder.

"Few human bodies could contain that which is Sactric," said Goffanon. "It is a problem which, for a solution, might require an act of considerable self-sacrifice on the part of one of us . . ."

"Then let that one be me, gentlemen."

The voice was a new one in the company, but it was familiar. Corum turned and saw to his great relief that it was Jhary-a-Conel, as cocky as ever, leaning against a rock with his wide-brimmed hat over one eye and the small, winged, black and white cat on his shoulder.

"Jhary!" Corum rushed forward to embrace his friend. "How long have you been upon the island?"

"I have witnessed most of what has taken place today. Very satisfactory." Jhary winked at Goffanon. "You deceived Calatin perfectly . . ."

"I should not have had the opportunity if it had not been for you, Jhary-a-Conel," said Goffanon. He turned to speak to the others.
^‘
'It was Jhary who, as soon as it was obvious that the day was going badly for the Mabden, pretended to be a turncoat and offered his services to Calatin who (appreciating his own deviousness and thinking all men like him in that respect) accepted. Thus, by sleight of hand, was Jhary able to substitute the bag containing the spittle for one like it which contained nothing but a little melted snow. Then, to find out what Calatin planned against the Mabden, I had only to pretend to be still in his power, while Jhary lost himself in the general confusion after the retreat from Caer Llud, following discreetly until we came to Ynys Scaith
..."

"So I did see a smaller sail on the horizon earlier!" said Corum. "It was your skiff, Jhary?"

"Doubtless," said the self-styled Companion to Champions. "And now, as to the other matter, I know that cats have a certain resilience men lack when it comes to containing the souls of other creatures. I remember a time once when my name was different and my circumstances were different, when a cat was used to great effect to contain (and in this case imprison) the soul of a very great sorcerer—but no more of that. My cat will carry you, Sactric, and
I
think you'll experience little discomfort
..."

"A beast?" Sactric began to shake his mummified head. "As Emperor of Malibann I could not . . ."

"Sactric," said Goffanon sharply, "you know very well that soon, unless you get free of this plane, you and yours will have perished completely. Would you risk that because of a small point of pride?"

Sactric said savagely: "You speak too familiarly, dwarf. Why, if I were not bound by my word
..."

"But you are," said Goffanon. "Now, sir, will you enter the cat so that we can leave, or do you not require back that which I took from you?"

"I want it more than life."

"Then, Sactric, you must do as Jhary suggests."

There seemed to be no reaction from Sactric, save that he stared at the black and white cat in some disdain for a moment, then there came a yowling from the cat, its fur stood on end and it clawed at the air before subsiding. And suddenly Sactric's mummy fell heavily to the ground and lay there in a tangled heap.

The cat said:

"Let us go quickly. And remember, I have lost none of my powers merely because I inhabit this body."

"We shall remember," said Ilbrec, picking up the old saddle he had found and dusting it off.

The Sidhi youth, the wounded smith, Goffanon, Corum of the Silver Hand, and Jhary-a-Conel, with that which was now Sactric balancing on his shoulder, began to make their way to the beach and the boat which waited for them.

The journey had been uneventful, with Ilbrec riding on Splendid Mane and guiding the ship on the shortest course to the mainland. And now they all stood upon a cliff at the foot of which a white, angry sea thundered, and Goffanon raised his double-bladed war-axe high above his head, using his one good arm, and then he drove the axe down into the turf which had, until a few minutes earlier, been marked by a small cairn of stones.

The extraordinarily intelligent eyes of the black and white cat watched Goffanon intensely and sometimes those eyes seemed to burn ruby red.

"Be careful you do not harm it," said the cat in Sactric of Malibann's voice.

"I have still to remove the charm I laid," said Goffanon. Having cut away the turf to expose a patch of earth measuring some eighteen inches across, the Sidhi dwarf knelt over this and ran some of the earth through his fingers, muttering what seemed to be a series of simple, rhymed couplets. When this was done he grunted, took out his knife and began to dig carefully in the soft ground.

"Ugh!" Goffanon found what he sought and his face was screwed up in an expression of considerable disgust. "Here it is, Sactric."

And he withdrew from the ground, by its thin strands of hair, a human head, as mummified as Sactric's own had been, yet having an air not of undeniable femininity but also, strangely, of beauty, though there was nothing evidently beautiful about the severed head.

"Terhali!" sighed the little black and white cat, and now there was plainly adoration in its eyes
.'
'Has he harmed you, my love, my sweet sister?"

And now they all gasped as the head opened eyes which were pure and clear and icy green. And the rotting lips replied: "I hear your voice Sactric, my own, but I do not see your face. Perhaps I am still a little blind?"

"No, I have had to inhabit this cat for the nonce. But soon we shall be in new bodies, bodies which can accept us, on some other plane. There is a chance that we might escape from this plane at last, my love."

They had brought a casket with them from Ynys Scaith and into this box of bronze and gold they now lowered the head. As the lid closed the eyes stared from the gloom.

"Farewell, for the moment, beloved Sactric!"

"Farewell, Terhali!"

"And that is what you stole from Sactric," murmured Corum to Goffanon.

"Aye, the head of his sister. It is all that is left of her. But it is enough. She has power equal to her brother's. If she had still been on Ynys Scaith when you went there, I doubt you would have survived at all."

''Goffanon is right,'' said the black and white cat, staring hard at the box which the dwarf now tucked under his arm. "That is why
I
would not leave this plane until she was restored to me. She is all that I love, Terhali."

Jhary-a-Conel reached up and gave the cat's head a sympathetic pat. '
^‘
It is what they say, is it not, about even the worst of us having tenderness for something
..."
And he brushed away an imaginary tear.

"And now," said Corum,
^‘‘
we must make haste for Craig Don."

^‘
‘
Which way?" asked Jhary-a-Conel, looking around him.

^‘
'That way," said Ilbrec, pointing east,
^‘
'toward the winter."

Corum had almost forgotten how fierce was the Fhoi Myore winter and he was grateful that they had come upon the abandoned village and found riding horses there, and thick furs to wear, for without both they would now be in a sorry plight. Even Ilbrec was muffled in the pelts of the snow-fox and the marten. Four nights had passed and each night seemed to herald a colder morning. Everywhere they had seen the familiar signs of the Fhoi Myore victories— ground cracked open as if from the blow of a gigantic hammer, frozen bodies twisted in the contours of agony, mutilated corpses of human folk as well as beasts, ruined towns, groups of warriors frozen on the spot by the power of Balahr’s eye, children ripped into a dozen pieces by the teeth of the Hounds of Kerenos—the signs of that frightful, unnatural winter which was destroying the very grass of the fields and leaving desolation wherever the ice formed. Through deep drifts of snow they forced their way, falling often, stumbling frequently, and occasionally losing track of their direction altogether—blundering on toward Craig Don, which might already be the graveyard of the last of the Mabden.

And the white snow continued to fall from the gray and endless sky, and their blood felt like ice in their veins, and their skins cracked and their limbs grew stiff and painful so that even breathing hurt their chests and, leading their horses, they were often tempted to lie down in the soft snow and forget their ambitions and die as they knew their comrades must have died.

And at night, when they would light a poor fire and sit close to it, they would scarcely be able to move their lips to speak and it seemed that their minds were as numbed by the cold as their bodies; often the only sound would be the murmur of the small black and white cat as it curled beside the bronze and gold casket and spoke to the head within, and they would hear the head reply, but they would feel no curiosity concerning the nature of the conversation between Sactric and Terhali.

Corum was not sure how many days and nights had passed (he was merely faintly surprised that he was still alive) when they came to the crest of a low hill and looked out across a wide plain over which fell a thin drift of snow; and there in the distance they saw a wall of mist and they recognized the mist for what it was—the mist which went everywhere that the Fhoi Myore went and which some believed was created by their foul breath or which others thought was necessary to sustain the diseased lives of the Cold Folk. And they knew that they had come to the Place of the Seven Stone Circles, the holy place of the Mabden, their greatest Place of Power, Craig Don. And as they rode closer they began to hear the horrid howling of the Hounds of Kerenos, the strange, melancholy booming tones of the Fhoi Myore, the rustlings and whisperings of the Fhoi Myore vassals, the People of the Pines who had once been men but were now brothers to the trees.