The Bull and the Spear - 05 (11 page)

Corum sighted along the shaft of the arrow, aiming for the heart. He released the string. There was a thud as the string struck his gauntleted wrist, a twang as the bow straightened. The arrow flew directly to its target. Corum saw the hound stagger and reel, staring at the arrow protruding from its side. Plainly, it had no idea from where the deadly missile had come. Its legs buckled. Corum reached for another arrow.

And then the bough snapped.

For a second Corum seemed suspended in the air as he realized what had happened. There was a dull cracking noise, a crash, and he was falling, trying futilely to grab at other branches as he went down, snow flying, making a terrible noise. The bow was wrenched from his hand; quiver and lances were still in the tree. He landed painfully on left shoulder and thigh. If the snow had not been so thick he would almost certainly have broken bones. As it was the rest of his weapons were on the far side of the clearing, and more of the Hounds of Kerenos were skulking in, having been momentarily surprised by the death of their brother and the sudden collapse of the tree branch.

Corum pulled himself to his feet and began to lope towards the bole against which his sword was leaning.

The horse whinnied and cantered towards him, blocking the path between him and his sword. Corum yelled at it, trying to force it out of the way. A long-drawn and triumphant howl came from behind him. Two huge paws struck his back and he went down. Hot, sticky saliva dripped on his neck. He tried to get up, but the giant dog pinned him, howling again to announce its victory .Corum had seen others of its breed do the same thing. In a moment it would bare its fangs and rip his throat out.

But then Corum heard the horse's neighing, got an impression of flying hooves. Then the dog's weight was off his body and he was rolling clear, seeing the great war-steed standing on its hind-legs and striking at the snarling hound with its iron-shod hooves. Half of the hound's head was caved in, but it still snapped at the horse. Then another hoof struck the skull and the dog collapsed with a groan.

Corum was already limping across the glade and instantly his silver hand was on the scabbard, his fleshly hand on the hilt of the sword, the blade scraping free even as he turned back.

Tendrils of mist were sinuously entering the glade itself now, like searching, ghostly fingers. Already two more hounds were attacking the valiant war-horse which, although it bled from two or three superficial bites, was still holding its own.

Then Corum saw a human figure appear from among the trees. Dressed all in leather, with a leather hood and heavy leather shoulder pads, it held a sword.

At first Corum thought that the figure had come to aid him, for the face was as white as the bodies of the hounds and its eyes blazed red. He remembered the strange albino he had met at the Tower of Voilodion Ghagnasdiak. Was it Elric?

But no—the features were not the same. The features of this man were heavy, corrupt, and his body was thick, unlike the slim form of Elric of Melnibone. He began to lumber knee-deep through the snow, the sword raised to deliver a blow.

Corum crouched and waited.

His opponent brought his sword down in a clumsy blow which Corum easily parried and returned, stabbing upwards with all his strength to pierce the leather and drive the point of his blade into the man's heart. A peculiar grunt escaped the white-faced warrior's lips, and he took three steps backward until the sword was free of his body. Then he took his own sword in both hands and swung it again at Corum.

Corum ducked barely in time. He was horrified. His thrust had been clean and true, and the man had not died. He hacked at his opponent's exposed left arm, inflicting a deep cut. No blood spurted from the wound. The man seemed oblivious of it, slashing again at Comm.

Elsewhere in the darkness more of the hounds were bounding into the glade. Some merely sat on their haunches and watched the fight between the two men. Others set upon the war-horse whose breath steamed in the cold night air. His horse was tiring now, and would soon be dragged down by the frightful dogs.

Corum stared in astonishment at his foe's pale face, wondering what manner of creature this actually was. Not Kerenos himself, surely? Kerenos had been described as a giant. No, this was one of the Fhoi Myore minions, of whom he had heard. A hound-master, perhaps, to Kerenos's hunt. The man had a small hunting dirk at his belt, and the blade that he bore was not unlike a flensing cutlass used for stripping meat and hacking at the bones of large prey.

The man's eyes did not seem to focus on Corum at all, but on some distant goal. That was possibly why his responses were sluggish. Nonetheless, Corum was still winded from his fall and, if he could not kill his opponent, then sooner or later one of those clumsy blows would strike true and Corum would be slain.

Implacably, swinging the great cutlass from side to side, the white-faced warrior advanced on Corum, who was barely able to do more than parry the blows.

He was retreating slowly backwards, knowing that behind him, at the edge of the glade, waited the hounds. And the hounds were panting—panting in hot-breathed anticipation, their tongues lolling, as ordinary domestic dogs might pant when they anticipated food.

Corum could think of no worse fate at that moment than to become meat for the Hounds of Kerenos. He tried to rally, to carry the attack to his enemy, and then his left heel struck a hidden tree root, his ankle twisted, and he fell, hearing the note of a horn from the forest—a horn that could only belong to one considered the greatest of the Fhoi Myore, Kerenos. Now the dogs were up, moving in on him as he tried to struggle up, his sword raised to ward off the blows which the white-faced warrior rained upon him.

Again the horn sounded.

The warrior paused, cutlass raised, a dull expression of puzzlement appearing on his heavy features. The dogs, too, were hesitating, red ears cocked, unsure of what they were expected to do.

And the horn sounded for the third time.

Reluctantly the hounds began to slink back into the forest. The warrior turned his back on Corum and staggered, dropping his blade, covering his ears, moaning softly, as he, too, followed the dogs from the glade. Then, suddenly, he stopped. His arms dropped limply to his sides, blood suddenly began to spurt from the wounds Corum had inflicted.

The warrior fell upon the snow and was still.

Warily, uncertainly, Corum got to his feet. His war-horse plodded up to him and nuzzled him. Corum felt a pang of guilt that he had considered leaving the brave beast to its fate when he had climbed the tree. He rubbed its nose. Though bleeding from several bites, the horse was not seriously hurt, and three of the devil dogs lay dead in the glade, their heads and bodies smashed by the horse's hooves.

A quietness fell upon the glade then. Corum used what he considered only a pause in the attack to seek his fallen bow. He found it, near the broken branch. But the arrows and his two lances remained where he had hung them in the tree. He stood on tiptoe, reaching up with his bow to try to dislodge them, but they were too high.

Then he heard a movement behind him and turned, sword at the ready.

A tall figure had entered the glade. He wore a long, pleated surcoat of soft leather dyed a deep, rich blue. There were jewels on his slender fingers, a gold and jewelled collar at his throat, and beneath the surcoat could just be seen a samite robe, embroidered with mysterious designs. The face was handsome and old, framed by long gray hair and a gray beard that ended just above the golden collar. In one of his hands the newcomer held a horn—a long horn bound with bands of silver and gold, each band fashioned in the shape of a beast of the forest.

Corum drew himself up, dropping the bow and taking his sword in both hands.

' ‘ I face you, Kerenos,'' said the Prince in the Scarlet Robe ,'' and I defy you."

The tall man smiled. “Few have ever faced Kerenos.'' His voice was mellow, weary and wise. "Even I have not faced him."

"You are not Kerenos? Yet you have his horn. You must have called off those hounds. Do you serve him?"

' 'I serve only myself—and those who aid me. I am Calatin. I was famous once, when there were folk in these parts to speak of me. I am a wizard. Once I had twenty-seven sons and a grandson. Now there is only Calatin."

"There are many now who mourn sons—and daughters, too," said Corum, recalling the old woman he had seen some days since.

"Many," agreed the wizard Calatin. "But my sons and my grandson died not in the battle against the Fhoi Myore. They died on my behalf, seeking something I require in my own feud with the Cold Folk. But who are you, warrior, who fights the Hounds of Kerenos so well, and who sports a silver hand like the hand of some legendary demigod."

"I am pleased that you, at least, do not recognize me," said Corum. "I am called Corum Jhaelen Irsei. The Vadhagh are my folk."

"Sidhi folk, then?" The tall old man's eyes became reflective. "What do you on the mainland?"

"Iam upon a quest. I seek something for a people who dwell now at Caer Mahlod. They are my friends."

"So Sidhi befriend mortals now. Perhaps there are some advantages to the Fhoi Myore's coming."

' 'Of advantages and disadvantages I know naught,'' said Corum. "I thank you, wizard, for calling off those dogs."

Calatin shrugged and tucked the horn away in the folds of his blue robe. "If Kerenos himself had hunted with his pack, I should not have been able to aid you. Instead he sent one of those." Calatin nodded towards the dead creature whom Corum had fought.

"And what are those?" Corum asked. He crossed the glade to look down at the corpse. It had stopped bleeding now, but the blood had congealed in all its wounds. "Why could I not kill it with my blade while you could kill it by the blast of a horn?"

' 'The third blast always slays the Ghoolegh," said Calatin with a shrug. ' 'If 'slay' is the proper word to use, for the Ghoolegh folk are half-dead already. That is why you doubtless found that one hard to slay. Normally they are bound to obey the first blast. A second blast will warn them and the third blast will kill them for failing to obey the first. They make good slaves, as a result. My horn-note, being subtly different to that of Kerenos's own horn, confused both dogs and Ghoolegh. But one thing the Ghoolegh knew—the third blast kills. So he died."

"Who are the Ghoolegh?"

' 'The Fhoi Myore brought them with them from across the water to the East. They are a race bred to serve the Fhoi Myore. I know little else about them."

"Do you know from where the Fhoi Myore came originally?" asked Corum. He began to move around the camp, finding sticks to build up the fire he had extinguished. He noted that the mist had disappeared entirely now.

"No, I have ideas, of course."

All the while he had spoken, Calatin had not moved but had watched Corum through narrowed eyes. "I would have thought," he continued, "that a Sidhi would know more than a mere mortal wizard."

' 'I do not know what the Sidhi folk are like," Corum said.' ‘I am a Vadhagh—and not of your time. I came from another age, an earlier age, or even an age which does not exist, as such, in your universe. I know no more than that."

"Why did you choose to come here?" Calatin seemed to accept Corum's explanation without surprise.

"I did not choose. I was summoned."

"An incantation?" Now Calatin was surprised. "You know a folk with power to summon the Sidhi to their aid? In Caer Mahlod? It is hard to believe."

' 'In that,'' Corum told him, ' 'I had some choice. Their incantation was weak. It could not have brought me to them against my will."

"Ah," Calatin seemed satisfied.

Corum wondered whether the wizard had been displeased when he thought there were mortals more powerful at sorcery than himself. He looked hard into Calatin's face. There was something most enigmatic about the wizard's eyes. Corum was not sure that he trusted the man very much, even though he'd saved his life.

At last the fire began to blaze and Calatin moved towards it, extending his hands to warm them.

"What if the hounds attack again?" Corum asked.

' 'Kerenos is nowhere near. It will take him some days to discover what happened here, and then we shall be gone, I hope."

"You wish to accompany me?" Corum asked.

"I was going to offer you the hospitality of my lodgings," said Calatin with a smile. "They are not far from here."

"Why were you wandering the forest at night?"

Calatin drew his blue robe about him and seated himself on cleared ground near the fire. The light from the blaze stained his face and beard red, giving him a somewhat demonic appearance. He raised his eyebrows at Corum's question.