The Chronicles of Corum (16 page)

He set off toward the city.

Corum had traveled less than a mile before the bizarre cavalry came racing toward him—warriors mounted on long-necked speckled beasts with curling horns and wattles like those of a lizard. The spindly legs moved swiftly, however, and soon Corum could see that the warriors were also very tall and extremely thin, but with small, rounded heads and round eyes. These were not Mabden, but they were like no race he had ever heard of.

He stopped and waited. There was nothing else he could do until he discovered if they were his enemies or not.

Swiftly, they surrounded him, peering down at him through their huge, staring eyes. Their noses and their mouths were also round and their expressions were ones of permanent surprise.

"Olanja ko?" said one wearing an elaborate cloak and hood of bright feathers and holding a club fashioned like the claw of a giant bird. "Olanja ko, drajer?"

Using the Low Speech of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, which was the common tongue of the Mabden, Corum replied, "I do not understand this language."

The creature in the feather cloak cocked his head to One side and closed his mouth. The other warriors, all dressed and armed similarly, though not as elaborately, muttered amongst themselves.

Corum pointed roughly southward. "I come from across the sea." Now he used Middle Speech, which Vadhagh and Nhadragh had spoken, but not Mabden.

The rider leaned forward as if this sound was more familiar to him, but then he shook his head, understanding none of the words.

"Olanja ko?"

Corum also shook his head. The warrior looked puzzled and made a delicate scratching gesture at his cheek. Corum could not interpret the gesture.

The leader pointed at one of his followers. "Mor naff a!" The man dismounted and waved one of his spindly arms at Corum, gesturing that he climb on the long-necked beast.

With some difficulty, Corum managed to swing himself into the narrow saddle and sit there, feeling extreme discomfort.

"Hoj!" The leader waved to his men and turned his mount back toward the city. "Hoj—ala!"

The beasts jogged off, leaving the remaining warrior to make his way back to the city on foot.

The city was surrounded by a high wall patterned with many geometric designs of a thousand colors. They entered it through a tall, narrow gate, moved through a series of walls that were probably designed as a simple maze, and began to ride along a broad avenue of blooming trees toward a palace that lay at the center of the city.

Reaching the gates of the palace, they all dismounted, and servants, as thin and tall as the warriors, with the same astonished round faces, took away the mounts. Corum was led through the gates, up a staircase of more than a hundred steps, into an enclave. The designs on the walls of the palace were less colorful but more elaborate than those on the outer walls of the city. These were chiefly in gold, white, and pale blue. Although faintly barbaric, the workmanship was beautiful and Corum admired it.

They crossed the enclave and entered a courtyard that was surrounded by an enclosed walk and had a fountain in its center.

Under an awning was a large chair with a tapering back. The chair was made of gold and a design was picked out upon it in rubies. The warriors escorting Corum came to a halt and almost immediately a figure emerged from the interior. He had a huge, high headdress of peacock feathers, a great cloak, also of many brilliant feathers, and a kilt of thin gold cloth. He took his place on the throne. This, then, was the ruler of the city.

The leader of the warriors and his monarch conversed briefly in their own language and Corum waited patiently, not wishing to behave in any way that these people would judge to be unfriendly.

At length the two creatures stopped conversing. The monarch addressed Corum. He seemed to speak several different tongues until at length Corum heard him say, in a strange accent.

"Are you of the Mabden race?"

It was the old speech of the Nhadragh, which Corum had learned as a child.

"I am not," he replied haltingly.

"But you are not Nhedregh."

"Yes—I am not—'Nhedregh.' You know of that folk?”

"Two of them lived amongst us some centuries since. What race are you?"

"The Vadhagh.”

The king sucked at his lips and smacked them. "The enemy, yes, of the Nhedregh?"

"Not now."

"Not now?" The king frowned.

"All the Vadhagh save me are dead," Corum explained."And what is left of those you call Nhedregh have become degenerate slaves of the Mabden."

"But the Mabden are barbarians!"

"Now they are very powerful barbarians."

The king nodded. "This was predicted." He studied Corum closely. "Why are you not dead?"

"I chose not to die."

"No choice was yours if Arioch decided."

"Who is 'Arioch'?"

"The God."

"Which God?"

“The God who rules our destinies. Duke Arioch the Swords."

"The Knight of the Swords?"

"I believe he is known by that title in the distant south." The king seemed deeply disturbed now. He licked; his lips. "I am King Temgol-Lep. This is my city, Arke. He waved his thin hand. "These are my people, the Ragha-da-Kheta. This land is called Khoolocrah. We, too, soon shall die."

"Why so?"

"It is Mabden time. Arioch decides." The shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Arioch decides. Soon Mabden will come and destroy us."

"You will fight them, of course."

"No. It is Mabden time. Arioch commands. He lets the Ragha-da-Kheta live longer because they obey him, because they do not resist him. But soon we shall die."

Corum shook his head. "Do you not think that Arioch is unjust to destroy you thus?"

"Arioch decides."

It occurred to Corum that these people had not been so fatalistic once. Perhaps they, too, were in a process of degeneration, caused by the Knight of the Swords.

"Why should Arioch destroy so much beauty and learning as you have here?"

"Arioch decides."

King Temgol-Lep seemed to be more familiar with the Knight of the Swords and his plans than anyone Corum. had yet met. Living so much closer to his domain, perhaps they had seen him.

"Has Arioch told you this himself?"

"He has spoken through our wise ones."

"And the wise ones—they are certain of Arioch's will?"

"They are certain."

Corum sighed. "Well, I intend to resist his plans. I do not find them agreeable!"

King Temgol-Lep drew his lids over his eyes and trembled slightly. The warriors looked at him nervously. Evidently they recognized that the king was displeased.

"I will speak no more about Arioch," King Temgol-Lep said. "But as our guest we must entertain you. You will drink some wine with us."

"I will drink some wine. I thank you." Corum would have preferred food to begin with, bat he was still cautious of giving offense to the Ragha-da-Kheta, who might yet supply him with the boat he needed.

The king spoke to some servants who were waiting in the shadows near the door into the palace. They went inside.

Soon they returned with a tray on which were tall, thin goblets and a golden jug. The king reached out and took the tray in his own hands, balancing it on his knee. Gravely, he poured wine into one of the cups and handed it to Corum.

Corum stretched out his left hand to receive the goblet.

The hand quivered.

Corum tried to control it, but it knocked the goblet away. The king looked startled and began to speak.

The hand plunged forward and its six fingers seized the king's throat.

King Temgol-Lep gurgled and kicked as Corum tried to pull the Hand of Kwlt away. But the fingers were locked on the throat. Corum could feel himself squeezing the life from the king.

Corum shouted for help before he realized that the warriors thought that he was attacking the king on his own volition. He drew his sword and hacked around him as they attacked with their oddly wrought clubs. They were plainly unused to battle, for their actions were clumsy and without proper coordination.

Suddenly the hand released King Temgol-Lep and Corom saw that he was dead.

His new hand had murdered a kindly and innocent creature! And it had ruined his chances of getting help from the Ragha-da-Kheta. It might even have killed him, for the warriors were very numerous.

Standing over the corpse of the king, he swept his sword this way and that, striking limbs from bodies, cutting into heads. Blood gushed everywhere and covered him, but he fought on.

Then, suddenly, there were no more living warriors. He stood in the courtyard while the gentle sun beat down and the fountain played and he looked at all the corpses. He raised his gauntleted alien hand and spat on it.

"Oh, evil thing! Rhalina was right! You have made me a murderer!"

But the hand was his again, it had no life of its own. He flexed the six fingers. It was now like any ordinary limb.

Save for the splashing of the water from the fountain, the courtyard was silent.

Corum looked back at the dead king and he shuddered. He raised his sword. He could cut the Hand of Kwll from him. Better to be crippled than to be the slave of so evil a thing!

And then the ground fell away from him and he plunged downward to fall with a crash upon the back of a beast that spit and clawed at him.

The Third Chapter
 The Dark Things Come

Corum saw daylight above and then the flagstone slid back and he was in darkness with the beast that dwelled in the pit beneath die courtyard. It was snarling in a corner somewhere. He prepared to defend himself against it.

Then the snarling stopped and there was silence for a moment.

Corum waited.

He heard a shuffling. He saw a spark. The spark became a flame. The flame came from a wick that burned in a clay vessel full of oil.

The clay vessel was held by a filthy hand. And the hand belonged to a hairy creature whose eyes were full of anger.

"Who are you?" Corum said.

The creature shuffled again and placed the crude lamp in a niche on the wall. Corum saw that the chamber was covered in dirty straw. There was a pitcher and a plate and, at the far end, a heavy iron door. The place reeked of human excrement.

"Can you understand me?" Comm still spoke the Nhadragh tongue.

"Stop your gabbling." The creature spoke distantly, as if he did not expect Corum to know what he was saying. He had spoken in the Low Speech. "You will be like me soon."

Corum made no reply. He sheathed his sword and walked about the cell, inspecting it. There seemed no obvious way of escape. Above him he heard footsteps on the flagstones of the courtyard. He heard, quite clearly, the voices of the Rhaga-da-Kheta. They were agitated, almost hysterical.

The creature cocked his head and listened. "So that is what happened," he mused, staring at Corum and grinning to himself. "You killed the feeble little coward, eh? Hm, well I don't resent your company nearly so much. Though your stay will be short, I fear. I wonder how they will destroy you . . ."

Corum listened in silence, still not revealing that he understood the creature's words. He heard the sound of the corpses being dragged away overhead. More voices came and went.

"Now they are in a quandary," chuckled the creature. "They are only good at killing by stealth. What did they try to do to you, my friend, poison you? That's the way they usually get rid of those they fear."

Poison? Corum frowned. Had the wine been poisoned? He looked at the hand. Had it—known? Was it in some way sentient?

He decided to break bis silence. "Who are you?" he said in the Low Speech.

The creature began to laugh. "So you can understand me! Well, since you are my guest, I feel you should answer my questions first. You look like a Vadhagh to me, yet I thought all the Vadhagh had perished long since. Name yourself and your folk, Friend."

Corum said, "I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei—the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. And I am the last of the Vadhagh."

"And I am Hanafax of Pengarde, something of a soldier, something of a priest, something of an explorer—and something of a wretch, as you see. I hail from a land called Lywm-an-Esh—a land far to the west where ..."

"I know of Lywm-an-Esh. I have been a guest of the Margravine of the East."

"What? Does that Margravate still exist? I had heard it had been washed away by the encroaching seas long since!"

"It may be destroyed by now. The Pony Tribes . . ."

"By Urleh!
 
Pony Tribes!
 
It is something from the histories."

"How come you to be so far from your own land, Sir Hanafax?"

"It's a long tale, Prince Corum. Arioch—as he is called here—does not smile on the folk of Lywm-an-Esh. He expects all the Mabden to do his work for him—chiefly in the reduction of the older races, such as your own. As you doubtless know, our folk have had no interest in destroying these races, for they have never harmed us. But Urleh is a kind of vassal deity to the Knight of the Swords. It was Urleh that I served as a priest. Well, it seems that Arioch grows impatient (for reasons of his own) and commands Urleh to command the people of Lywm-an-Esh to embark on a crusade, to travel far to the west where a seafolk dwell. These folk are only about fifty in all and live in castles built into coral. They are called the Shalafen. Urleh gave me Arioch’s command. I decided to believe that this was a false command—coming from another entity unfriendly to Urleh. My luck, which was never of the best, changed greatly then. There was a murder. I was blamed. I fled my lands and stole a ship. After several somewhat dull adventures, I found myself amongst this twittering people who so patiently await Arioch's destruction. I attempted to band them together against Arioch. They offered me wine, which I refused. They seized me and placed me here, where I have been for more than a few months."

"What will they do with you?"

"I cannot say. Hope that I die eventually, I suppose. They are a misguided folk and a little stupid, but they are not by nature cruel. Yet their terror of Arioch is so great that they dare not do anything that might offend him. In this way they hope he will let them live a year or two longer."