They were cold and they were hungry. The coats of their horses were rimed and their own cloaks sparkled with frost. Their faces were numbed by the cold wind and their bodies ached whenever they moved.
But they had found Caer Llud. They drew rein upon a hill and saw a wide, frozen river. On both banks of the river and connected by well-constructed wooden bridges was the City of the High King, pale granite coated with snow, some of the buildings rising several stories. For this world it was a large city, perhaps the largest, and must once have contained a population of twenty or thirty thousand.
But now the city had the appearance of having been abandoned, for all that shapes could be seen moving through the mist which hung in its streets.
The mist was everywhere. Thinner in some places, it clung to Caer Llud like a threadbare shroud. Corum recognized the mist. It was Fhoi Myore mist. It was the mist which followed the Cold Folk wherever they traveled in their huge, poorly made wicker war-carts. Corum feared that mist, as he feared the primitive, amoral power of the surviving Lords of Limbo. Even as they watched, he saw a movement where the mist was thickest, close to the river bank. He saw a suggestion of a dark, homed head; of a gigantic torso which faintly resembled the body of a toad; of the outlines of a huge, creaking cart drawn by something as oddly formed as the rider. Then it had gone.
From Corum's frost-cracked lips came a single word: "Kerenos."
"He who is master to the hounds?" Jhary sniffed.
"And master of much more," Corum added.
Jhary blew his nose upon a large linen rag he took from under his jerkin. "I fear this weather affects my health badly," he said. "I would not mind coming to blows with some of those who created such weather!"
Corum shook his head. "We are not strong enough, you and I. We must wait. We must be as careful to avoid conflict with the Fhoi Myore as Gaynor is in avoiding direct conflict with me." He peered through the mist and the eddying snow. ' 'Caer Llud is not guarded. Plainly they fear no attack from the Mabden. Why should they? That is to our advantage." He looked at Jhary ‘ s face which was blue with cold. ' 'I think we'd both pass for living corpses if we entered Caer Llud now. If stopped, we shall announce that we are Fhoi Myore men. While it is impossible to reason either with the Fhoi Myore or their slaves because of their primitive mentalities, it also means that they are slow to recognize a deception. Come." Corum urged his horse down the hill toward that sad city, the once-great city of Caer Llud.
Leaving the relatively clean air for the mist of Caer Llud was like going from midsummer into midwinter. If Corum and Jhary-a-Conel had considered themselves cold, it was now as nothing to the totality of coldness in which they now found themselves. The mist seemed virtually sentient, eating into their flesh, their bones and their vitals so that they were hard-put not to cry out and reveal their ordinary humanity. For Gaynor the Damned, for the Ghoolegh, the living dead, for the Brothers of the Pines like Hew Argech whom Corum had once fought, such cold doubtless meant little. But for mortals of the conventional mold it meant a great deal. Corum, gasping, shuddering, wondered if they could hope to live through it. With set faces they rode on, avoiding the worst of the mist as best they could, seeking the great tower by the river where they hoped Amergin was still imprisoned.
They said nothing as they rode, fearing to reveal their identities, for it was impossible to know who or what lurked on either side of them in the mist. The movement of their horses became sluggish, plodding, as the dreadful mist affected them. At last Corum bent over and spoke close to Jhary's head, finding speech painful as he said:
"There is a house just to the left of us which seems empty. See. The door is open. Ride directly through." And he turned his own horse into the doorway and entered a narrow passage already occupied by an old woman and a girl child who were huddled together, frozen and dead.
He dismounted and led his horse into a room off the passage. The room appeared untouched by looters. Mold grew on food on the table which had been set for some ten people. A few spears stood in a corner and there were shields and swords against the wall. The men of the house had gone to fight the Fhoi Myore and had not returned for the meal. The old woman and the girl had died beneath the influence of Balahr's frightful eye. Doubtless they would find the corpses of others—old and young—who had not joined the hopeless battle against the Fhoi Myore when they had first come to Caer Llud. Corum desperately wished to light a fire, to warm his aching bones, to drive the mist from his body, but he knew that this would be risking too much. The living dead did not need fires to warm them and neither did the People of the Pines. As Jhary-a-Conel led his own horse into the room, drawing a shuddering winged black and white cat from within his jerkin, Corum whispered: "There will be clothing upstairs, perhaps blankets. I will see." The small black and white cat was already climbing back inside Jhary's jacket, mewling a complaint.
Corum cautiously climbed a wooden staircase and found himself on a narrow landing. As he had guessed, there were others here— two very old men and three babies. The old men had died trying to give their bodyheat to the children.
Corum entered a room and found a large cupboard full of blankets stiff with cold. But they were not frozen through. He dragged out as many as he could carry and took them back down the stairs. Jhary seized them gratefully and began to drape them around his shoulders.
Corum was unwrapping something from his waist. It was the nondescript mantle, the gift of King Fiachadh, the Sidhi Cloak.
Their plan was already made. Jhary-a-Conel would wait here with the horses while Corum sought Amergin. Corum unfolded the mantle, wondering again as it hid his hands from his own sight. This was the first Jhary had seen of the Cloak and he gasped as, huddling in a mound of blankets, he saw what it did.
Then Corum paused.
From the street outside there came sounds. Cautiously he went to the shuttered windows and peered through a crack. Through the clinging mist he saw shapes moving—many shapes. Some were on foot and some were mounted, but all were of the same greenish hue. And Corum recognized them—the strange Brothers to the Pines who had once been men but now had sap instead of blood in their veins; they drew their vitality not from meat and drink but from the earth itself. These were the Fhoi Myore's fiercest fighters, their most intelligent slaves. And the horses they rode were also of the same, strange green color, kept alive by the same elements which kept the People of the Pines alive. And yet even these were doomed, thought Corum as he watched, when the Fhoi Myore poisoned all the earth so that even the hardy trees could no longer live. But by that time the Fhoi Myore would no longer need their green warriors.
These were the creatures of whom Corum was most wary, with the exception of Gaynor himself, for they still retained much of their former intellect. He motioned Jhary to complete silence and barely breathed as he watched the throng pass by.
It was a large army and it had prepared itself for an expedition. It was leaving Caer Llud, it seemed. Was it to make a further attack on Caer Mahlod, or did they march elsewhere?
And then, behind this army, swam a thicker mist, and from out of the mist came strange grumblings and gruntings, peculiar noises which might have been speech. The mist thinned a fraction and Corum saw the outline of lumbering, malformed beasts and a wicker chariot. He had to peer upward to see the faint outline of the one who rode in the chariot. He saw reddish fur and an eight-fingered hand, all gnarled and covered in warts, clutching what appeared to be a monstrous hammer, but the shoulders and the head were completely obscured. Then the creaking battle-cart had gone past the window and silence came again to the street.
Corum wrapped the Sidhi Cloak about his body. It seemed to have been made originally for a much larger man, for its folds completely engulfed him.
And then it seemed, to his astonishment, that he saw two rooms, as if his eyes were slightly out of focus. Yet the rooms were subtly different. One was the room of death in which Jhary sat huddled in his blankets, and one was light, airy, full of sunshin
e.
And Corum understood, then, the properties of the Sidhi Cloak. It had been long since he had been able to shift his body from one plane into another. Effectively, this was what the mantle had done for him. Like Hy-Breasail, it was not completely of this plane; it moved him sideways, as it were, through the dimensions separating one plane from another.
"What has happened?" said Jhary-a-Conel peering in Corum's direction.
"Why? Have I vanished?"
Jhary shook his head. "No," he said, "but you have become a little shadowy, as if the mist thickens around you."
Corum frowned. "So the cloak does not work, after all. I should have tested it before I left Caer Mahlod."
Jhary-a-Conel looked thoughtful. "Perhaps it will deceive Mabden eyes, Corum. You forget that I am used to traveling between the Realms. But those who cannot see, who have no knowledge such as we possess, perhaps they will not see you."
Corum made a bitter smile. ‘'Well,’' he said, "we must hope so, Jhary!"
He turned toward the door.
"Go warily, Corum," said Jhary-a-Conel. "Gaynor—the Fhoi Myore themselves—many are not of this world at all. Some may see you clearly. Others may gain just an impression of your outline. But there is much danger in what you plan."
And Corum said nothing in reply but left the room and entered the street and began to move toward the tower by the river with a steady, dogged stride, as a man might go bravely to his inevitable death.
THE SECOND CHAPTER
A HIGH KING BROUGHT LOW
He stood directly in Corum's path as Corum went through the open gateway and began to ascend the gently rising steps which led to the entrance of the tall granite tower. He was big, barrel-chested, clad in leather, and in each white hand he held a cutlass. His red eyes glared. His bloodless lips curved in something which could have been a smile or a snarl.
Corum had met his kind before. This was one of the Fhoi Myore's living dead vassals, called the Ghoolegh. Often they rode as huntsmen with the Hounds of Kerenos, for they were drawn from the ranks of those who had been foresters before the Fhoi Myore came.
This must be the test, thought Corum. He stood less than a foot from the red-eyed Ghoolegh and assumed a martial position, hand on sword.
But the Ghoolegh did not respond. He continued to stare through Corum and plainly could not see him.
In some relief, his faith in the Sidhi Cloak restored, Corum passed around the Ghoolegh guard and continued until he reached the entrance to the tower itself.
Here stood two more Ghoolegh and they were as unaware of Corum's presence as their fellow. He was almost cheerful as he walked through and began to mount the curving stairway leading up into the heart of the tower. The tower was wide and roughly square in shape. The steps were old and worn and the walls on both sides were either painted or carved with pictures of exceptionally beautiful workmanship. As with most Mabden art, they depicted famous deeds, great heroes, love stories and the doings of gods, and demigods, yet they had a purity of conception, a beauty, which showed none of the darker aspects of superstition and religiosity. The metaphorical content of the old stories was completely understood by these Mabden and appreciated for what it was.
Here and there were the remains of tapestries which had been torn from the walls. Frost-coated, mist-rotted, it was possible to see that they had been of immeasurable value, worked in gold and silver thread as well as rich scarlets, yellows and blues. Corum mourned at the destruction the Fhoi Myore and their minions had wrought.
He reached the first story of the tower and found himself on a wide stone-flagged landing, almost a room in itself, with benches lined along the walls and decorative shields set above them. And from one of the rooms off this landing he heard voices.
Confident now in the powers of his cloak he approached the half-open door and to his surprise felt warmth issuing from it. He was grateful for the warmth, but puzzled, too. Becoming more cautious, he peered around the door and was shocked.
Two figures sat beside a big fire which had been built in the stone hearth. Both were swathed in layers of thick, white fur. Both wore fur gauntlets. Both had no business being in Caer Llud at all. On the other side of the room food was being set out by a girl who had the same white flesh and red eyes of the Ghoolegh guards and was doubtless, like them, one of the living dead. It meant that the two by the fire were not in Caer Llud illicitly. They were obviously guests, with servants put at their disposal.
One of these guests of the Fhoi Myore was a tall, slender Mabden with jeweled rings on his gloved hands and a jeweled, golden collar at his throat. His long hair and his long beard were both gray, framing a handsome, old face. And worn by a thong passed over his head so that it rested upon his chest was a horn. It was a long horn and there were bands of silver and gold around it. Corum knew that every one of those hands represented a different forest beast. The Mabden was the one he had met near Moidel’s Mount and with whom he had traded a cloak—in exchange for the horn which the Mabden had, apparently, recovered. It was the Wizard Calatin, who planned secret plans which had nothing to do with loyalty either to his Mabden countrymen or their Fhoi Myore enemies—or so Corum had thought.
But still more shocking to Corum was the sight of the wizard's companion—the one who had sworn he would never involve himself in the affairs of the world. And this man must truly be a renegade, for it was the one who called himself a dwarf yet was eight feet tall and at least four feet broad at the shoulder—who had the fine, sensitive features which marked him as a cousin to the
Vadhagh, although many of those features were covered in black hair. There was a glimpse of an iron breastplate beneath his many furs. On his legs there were polished iron greaves with gold inlays, and he wore a polished iron helmet of similar workmanship. Beside him stood his huge double-bladed war-axe, not unlike Corum's axe, but much larger. This was Goffanon, the Sidhi Smith of Hy-Breasail, who had given Corum the Spear Bryionak and the bag of spittle which Calatin had wanted. How could Goffanon possibly have allied himself with the Fhoi Myore, let alone the Wizard Calatin? Goffanon had sworn that he would never again involve himself in the wars between mortals and the Gods of Limbo! Had he deceived Corum? Had he been in league with the Fhoi Myore and the Wizard Calatin all along? Yet, if so, why had he given Corum the Spear Bryionak which had led to the defeat of the Fhoi Myore at Caer Mahlod?
Now, as if he sensed Corum's presence, Goffanon slowly began to turn his head toward the door and Corum withdrew hastily, not sure if the Sidhi would be able to see him.
There was something strange about Goffanon's face, something dull and tragic, but Corum had not had enough time to study the expression closely enough to be able to analyze it.
With heavy heart, horrified by Goffanon's treachery (though not over-surprised by Calatin's decision to league himself with the Fhoi Myore) Corum tiptoed back to the landing, hearing Calatin say:
"We shall go with them tomorrow when they march."
And he heard Goffanon reply in a deep, distant voice: "Now begins in earnest the conquest of the West."
So the Fhoi Myore did prepare for battle and almost certainly they marched against Caer Mahlod again. And this time they had a Sidhi as an ally and there were no Sidhi weapons to thwart their ambitions.
Corum moved with greater urgency up the next stairway and had gone half-way when he turned a bend and saw a lump squatting so that it filled the whole stair and afforded him no room through which he could pass undetected. The lump did not see him, but it lifted its snout and sniffed. Its three eyes, of disparate size, had a puzzled look. Its pink, bristle-covered flesh quivered as it pushed itself into a sitting position on its five arms. Three of the arms were human, though they seemed to have belonged to a woman, a youth and an old man. One of the arms was simian, that of a gorilla, and one of the arms seemed to have been the property of some kind of large reptile. The legs which the lump now revealed were short and ended in a human foot, a cloven hoof and a dog-like paw, respectiv
ely. The lump was naked, apparently sexless, and it was unarmed. It stank of excrement and of sweat and of corrupting food. It wheezed as it altered its position.
As silently as was possible, Corum drew his sword as the three lids closed over the three mismatched eyes as the lump, seeing nothing, resettled itself to sleep again.
As the eyes closed Corum struck.
He struck through the oval mouth, through the roof of the mouth, into the brain. He knew that he could strike only once effectively before the lump made a noise which would bring other guards.
The eyes opened and instantly one closed again in a kind of obscene wink.
The others stared at the blade of the sword in astonishment, for it seemed to protrude from the thin air. The simian hand came up to touch the blade but it never completed the gesture. The hand fell limply back. The remaining eyes closed and Corum was sheathing his sword and clambering over the fat, yielding flesh as fast as he could, praying that none should find the lump's corpse before he had discovered the whereabouts of the Archdruid Amergin.
There were two Ghoolegh guards, their cutlasses at attention across their chests, at the top of this particular stair, but it was plain that they had heard nothing.
Hurriedly Corum slipped past them and mounted the next flight and there, on the landing above him, he saw two huge hounds, the largest of all the hounds of Kerenos he had ever seen.
And these hounds were sniffing the air. They could not see him, but they had caught his scent. Both were voicing soft, deep growls.
Acting as rapidly as he had acted when he had seen the lump, Corum ran through the gap between the dogs and had the satisfaction of seeing them snap at the air and almost close their fangs on each other's throats.
And here was a great archway filled by a door of beaten bronze on which had been raised motifs of beautiful complexity. King Fiachadh had described it. This was the door to Amergin's apartments. And hanging on a brass hook beside the door, behind the head of one gigantic Ghoolegh guard, was a single iron key. And this was the key to the beautiful bronze door.