The Chronicles of Corum (2 page)

Twelve people lived in the castle now, though once five hundred had occupied it. The twelve were Prince Khlonskey, himself, a very ancient being; his wife Colatalarna, who was, in appearance, much younger than her husband; Hastru and JPholhinra, his twin daughters; Prince Rhanan, his brother; Sertreda, his niece; Corum, his son. The remaining five were retainers, distant cousins of the prince. All had characteristic Vadhagh features: narrow, long skulls; ears that were almost without lobes and tapered flat alongside the head; fine hair that a breeze would make rise like flimsy clouds about their faces; large almond eyes that had yellow centers and purple surrounds; wide, full-lipped mouths; and skin that was a strange, gold-flecked rose-pink. Their bodies were slim and tall and well proportioned and they moved with a leisurely grace that made the human gait seem like the shambling of a crippled ape.

Occupying themselves chiefly with remote, intellectual pastimes, the family of Prince Khlonskey had had no contact with other Vadhagh folk for two hundred years and had not seen a Nhadragh for three hundred. No news of the outside world had come to them for over a century. Only once had they seen a Mabden, when a specimen had been brought to Castle Erorn by Prince Opash, a naturalist and first cousin to Prince Khlonskey. The Mabden—a female—had been placed in the menageries where it was cared for well, but it lived little more than fifty years and when it died was never replaced. Since then, of course, the Mabden had multiplied and were, it appeared, even now inhabiting large areas of Bro-an-Vadhagh. There were even rumors that some Vadhagh castles had been infested with Mabden who had overwhelmed the inhabitants and eventually destroyed their homes altogether. Prince Khlonskey found this hard to believe. Besides, the speculation was of little interest to him or his family. There were so many other things to discuss, so many more complex sources of speculation, pleasanter topics of a hundred kinds.

Prince Khlonskey's skin was almost milk-white and so thin that all the veins and muscles were clearly displayed beneath. He had lived for over a thousand years and only recently had age begun to enfeeble him. When his weakness became unbearable, when his eyes began to dim, he would end his life in the manner of the Vadhagh, by going to the Chamber of Vapors and laying himself on the silk quilts and cushions and inhaling the various sweet-smelling gases until he died. His hair had turned a golden brown with age and the color of his eyes had mellowed to a kind of reddish-purple with pupils of a dark orange. His robes were now rather too large for his body, but, although he carried a staff of plaited platinum in which ruby metal had been woven, his bearing was still proud and his back was not bent.

One day he sought his son, Prince Corum, in a chamber where music was formed by the arranging of hollow tubes, vibrating wires, and shifting stones. The very simple, quiet music was almost drowned by the sound of Khlonskey's feet on the tapestries, the tap of his staff, and the rustle of the breath in his thin throat.

Prince Corum withdrew his attention from the music and gave his father a look of polite inquiry.

"Father?"

"Corum. Forgive the interruption."

"Of course. Besides, I was not satisfied with the work." Corum rose from his cushions and drew his scarlet robe about him.

"It occurs to me, Corum, that I will soon visit the Chamber of Vapors," said Prince Khlonskey, "and, in reaching this decision, I had it in mind to indulge a whim of mine. However, I will need your help."

Now Prince Corum loved his father and respected his decision, so he said gravely, "That help is yours, Father. What can I do?"

"I would know something of the fate of my kinsmen. Of Prince Opash, who dwells at Castle Sam in the East Of Princess Lorim, who is at Castle Crachah in the South. And of Prince Faguin of Castle Gal in the North."

Prince Corum frowned. "Very well, Father, if ..."

"I know, Son, what you think—that I could discover what I wish to know by occult means. Yet this is not so. For some reason it is difficult to achieve intercourse with the other planes. Even my perception of them is dimmer than it should be, try as I might to enter them with my senses. And to enter them physically is almost impossible. Perhaps it is my age ..."

"No, Father," said Prince Corum, "for I, too, have found it difficult Once it was easy to move through the Five Planes at will With a little more effort the Ten Planes could be contacted, though, as you know, few could visit them physically. Now I am unable to do more than see and occasionally hear those other four planes which, with ours, form the spectrum through which our planet directly passes in its astral cycle. I do not understand why this loss of sensibility has come about."

"And neither do I," agreed his father. "But I feel that it must be portentous. It indicates some major change in the nature of our Earth. That is the chief reason why I would discover something of my relatives and, perhaps, learn if they know why our senses become bound to a single plane. It is unnatural. It is crippling to us. Are we to become like the beasts of this plane, which are aware only of one dimension and have no understanding that the others exist at all? Is some process of devolution at work? Shall our children know nothing of our experiences and slowly return to the state of those aquatic mammals from which our race sprang? I will admit to you, my son, that there are traces of fear in my mind."

Prince Corum did not attempt to reassure his father. "I read once of the Blandhagna," he said thoughtfully. "They were a race based on the Third Plane. A people of great sophistication. But something took hold of their genes and of their brains and, within five generations, they had reverted to a species of flying reptile still equipped with a vestige of their former intelligence—enough to make them mad and, ultimately, destroy themselves completely. What is it, I wonder, that produces these reversions?"

"Only the Sword Rulers know," his father said.

Corum smiled. "And the Sword Rulers do not exist. I understand your concern, Father. You would have me visit these kinsmen of yours and bring them our greetings. I should discover if they fare well and if they have noticed what we have noticed at our Castle Erorn."

His father nodded. "If our perception dims to the level of a Mabden, then there is little point in continuing our race. Find out, too, if you can, how the Nhadragh fare—if this dullness of the senses comes to them."

"Our races are of more or less equal age," Corum murmured. "Perhaps they are similarly afflicted. But did not your kinsman Shulag have something to say, when he visited you some centuries back?"

"Aye. Shulag had it that the Mabden had come in ships from the West and subjugated the Nhadragh, kilting most and making slaves of those remaining. Yet I find it hard to believe that the Mabden half-beasts, no matter how great their numbers, would have the wit to defeat Nhadragh cunning."

Prince Corum pursed his lips reflectively. "Possibly they grew complacent," he said.

His father turned to leave the chamber, his staff of ruby and platinum tapping softly on the richly embroidered cloth covering the flagstones, his delicate hand clutching it more tightly than usual. "Complacency is one thing," he said, "and fear of an impossible doom is another. Both, of course, are ultimately destructive. We need speculate no more, for on your return you may bring us answers to these questions. Answers that we can understand. When would you leave?"

"I have it in mind to complete my symphony," Prince Corum said. "That will take another day or so. I will leave on the morning after the day I finish it."

Prince Khlonskey nodded his old head in satisfaction. "Thank you, my son."

When he had gone, Prince Corum returned his attention to his music, but be found that it was difficult for him to concentrate. His imagination began to focus on the quest he had agreed to undertake. A certain emotion took hold of him. He believed that it must be excitement. When he embarked on the quest, it would be the first time in bis life that he had left the environs of Castle Erorn.

He attempted to calm himself, for it was against the customs of his people to allow an excess of emotion.

"It will be instructive," he murmured to himself, "to see the rest of this continent. I wish that geography had interested me more. I scarcely know the outlines of Bro-an-Vadhagh, let alone the rest of the world. Perhaps I should study some of the maps and travelers' tales in the library. Yes, I will go there tomorrow, or perhaps the next day."

No sense of urgency filled Prince Corum, even now. The Vadhagh being a long-lived people, they were used to acting at leisure, considering their actions before performing them, spending weeks or months in meditation before embarking on some study or creative work.

Prince Corum then decided to abandon his symphony, on which he had been working for the past four years. Perhaps he would take it up again on his return, perhaps not. It was of no great consequence.

The Second Chapter
 Prince Corum Sets Forth

And so, with the hooves of his horse hidden by the white mist of the morning, Prince Corum rode out from Castle Erorn to begin his quest.

The pale light softened the lines of the castle so that it seemed, more than ever, to merge with the great high rock on which it stood, and the trees that grew beside the path down which Corum rode also appeared to melt and mingle with the mist so that the landscape was a silent vision of gentle golds and greens and grays tinged with the pink rays of a distant, hidden sun. And, from beyond the rock, the sea, cloaked by the mist, could be heard retreating from the shore.

As Corum reached the sweet-smelling pines and birches of the forest a wren began to sing, was answered by the croak of a rook, and both fell silent as if startled by the sounds their own throats had made.

Corum rode on through the forest until the whisper of the sea dimmed behind him and the mist began to give way before the warming light of the rising sun. This ancient forest was familiar to him and he loved it, for it was here he had ridden as a boy and had been taught the obsolete art of war, which had been considered by his father as useful a way as any of making his body strong and quick. Here, too, he had lain through whole days watching the small animals that inhabited the forest—the tiny horselike beast of gray and yellow which had a horn growing from its forehead and was no bigger than a dog; the fan-winged gloriously colored bird that could soar higher than the eye could see and yet which built its nests in abandoned fox and badger sets underground; the large, gentle pig with thick, curly black hair that fed on moss; and many others.

Prince Corum realized that he had almost forgotten the pleasures of the forest, he had spent so long inside the castle. A small smile touched his lips as he looked about him. The forest, he thought, would endure forever. Something so beautiful could not die.

But this thought put him, for some reason, in a melancholy mood and he urged his horse to a somewhat faster gait.

The horse was glad to gallop as fast as Corum desired, for it also knew the forest and was enjoying the exercise. It was a red Vadhagh horse with a blue-black mane and tail, and it was strong, tall, and graceful, unlike the shaggy, wild ponies that inhabited the forest. It was mantled in yellow velvet and hung about with panniers; two spears; a plain, round shield made of different thicknesses of timber, brass, leather and silver; a long bone bow; and a quiver holding a good quantity of arrows. In one of the panniers were provisions for the journey, and in another were books and maps for guidance and entertainment.

Prince Corum himself wore a conical silver helm which had his full name carved in three characters above the short peak—Corum Jhaelen Irsei—which meant Corum, the Prince in the Scarlet Robe. It was the custom of the Vadhagh to choose a robe of a distinctive color and identify themselves by means of it, as the Nhadragh used crests and banners of greater complication. Corum wore the robe now. It had long, wide sleeves, a full skirt that was spread back over his horse's rump, and it was open at the front. At the shoulders was fixed a hood large enough to go over his helmet. It had been made from the fine, thin skin of a creature that was thought to dwell in another plane, forgotten even by the Vadhagh. Beneath the coat was a double byrnie made up of a million tiny links. The upper layer of this byrnie was silver and the lower layer was of brass.

For weapons other than bow and lance, Corum bore a long-hafted Vadhagh war-axe of delicate and intricate workmanship, a long, strong sword of a nameless metal manufactured on a different plane of the Earth, with pommel and guard worked in silver and both red and black onyx. His shirt was of blue samite and his breeks and boots were of soft brushed leather, as was his saddle, which was finished in silver.

From beneath his helm, some of Prince Corum's fine, silvery hair escaped and his youthful face now bore an expression that was half introspection, half excited anticipation at the prospect of his first sight of the ancient lands of his kinfolk.

He rode alone because none of tie castle's retainers could be spared, and he rode on horseback rather than in a carriage because he wished to make the fastest possible speed.

It would be days before he would reach the first of the several castles he must visit, but he tried to imagine how different these dwelling places of his kinfolk would be and how the people themselves would strike him. Perhaps he would even find a wife among them. He knew that, while his father had not mentioned this, it had been an extra consideration in Prince Khlonskey's mind when the old man had begged him to go on this mission.

Soon Corum had left the forest and had reached the great plain called Broggfythus where once the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh had met in bloody and mystical battle.

It had been the last battle ever fought between the two races and, at its height, it had raged through all five planes. Producing neither victor nor defeated, it had destroyed more than two thirds of each of their races. Corum had heard that there were many empty castles across Bro-an-Vadhagh now, and many empty cities in the Nhadragh Isles which lay across the water from Castle Erorn.