Chronicles of Corum (39 page)

"I have no men," said Corum impatiently.

The leader laughed harshly. "Then you are foolish."

"I will not fight you," Corum told him. "Why are you here?"

"To join those who gather at Caer Mahlod."

"It is as I thought." All Corum's earlier forebodings had returned and he fought to hold them off."If we give you our weapons and take you to Caer Mahlod, will you believe that we mean you no harm? At Caer Mahlod you will learn that we speak the truth, that we have never seen you before and that we are not your enemies.''

The loud-voiced youth called:"It could be a trick, to lure us into a trap."

"Ride with your swords at our throats if you like," said Corum carelessly. "If you are attacked, you may kill us."

The leader frowned."You have none of the manner of that other we met on the island/' he said. "And if you lead us to Caer Mahlod at least we shall have reached our destination and thus gained something from this meeting."

''Artek!' ‘ shouted the youth. "Be wary!''

The leader turned. "Silence, Kawanh. We can always slay the Shefanhow later!"

"I would ask you, in courtesy," said Corum evenly, "not to employ that term when you refer to me. It is not one I like and it does not make me sympathetic to you."

Artek made to answer, a hard smile half-forming on his lips. Then he looked into Corum's single eye and thought better of his reply. He grunted and ordered two of his men forward."Take their weapons. Hold your swords at them as we ride. Very well— Corum—lead us to Caer Mahlod."

Corum derived some pleasure from the looks of shock on the strangers' faces as they rode to the outskirts of the camp and saw the expressions of concern and anger in the eyes of every Mabden who became aware that Corum and Medhbh were prisoners. Now it was Corum's turn to smile and his smile was broad as the crowd around the twenty riders became thicker and thicker until they were no longer able to advance and came to a halt in the middle of the camp, still some distance from the hill on which Caer Mahlod was built. A war-chief of the Tir-nam-Beo glared at Artek, whose sword pressed upon Corum's chest.

"What mean you by this, man! Why do you hold hostage our princess? Why threaten the life of our friend, Prince Corum?"

Artek's embarrassment was so complete that he blushed a deeper red than his hair and beard. "So you spoke the truth . .
."he
muttered. But he did not lower his sword. "Unless this is some monstrous illusion and all these are your demon followers."

Corum shrugged. "If they are demons, Sir Artek, then you are doomed, anyway, are you not?"

Miserably Artek sheathed his sword. "You are right. I must believe you. Yet your resemblance to the one who attacked us on that hateful and haunted isle is so close—you would not blame me, Prince Corum, if you saw him."

Corum answered so that only Artek could hear. "I think that I have seen him—in a dream. Later, Sir Artek, you and I must talk about this, for I believe the evil which was worked against you will soon be directed against me—and the results could be even more tragic."

Artek darted him a puzzled glance but, respecting the tone of Corum's words, said nothing further.

"You must rest and you must eat," said Corum. He had taken a liking to the barbarian in spite of the poor circumstances of their meeting. "Then you must tell us all your tale in the great hall of Caer Mahlod."

Artek bowed. "You are generous, Prince Corum, and you are courteous. Now I see why the Mabden respect you."

"We are an island folk," said Artek, "living mainly off the sea. We fish—" he paused—"well, in the past, until recently, we—well, we were sea-raiders, in short. It is a hard life on our islands. Little grows there. Sometimes we raided nearby coasts, at other times we attacked ships and took what we needed to survive . . ."

"I know you now." King Fiachadh laughed heartily. "You are pirates, are you not! You are Artek of Clonghar. Why the folk of our sea ports pass water at the very mention of your name!"

Artek made a feeble gesture and again he blushed. "I am that same Artek," he admitted.

"Fear not, Artek of Clonghar," smiled King Mannach, leaning across the table and patting the pirate upon the hand,"all old scores are forgotten in Caer Mahlod. Here we have only one enemy—the Fhoi Myore. Tell us how you came here."

"One of the ships we raided was from Gwyddneu Garanhir—on its way to Tir-nam-Beo, we discovered, with a message for the king of that land. From that ship we learned of the great massing against the Fhoi Myore. While we have never encountered this folk—living in the remote northwest as we do—we felt that if all the Mabden were joining together against the Cold Folk then we should help also—that their fight was our fight in this case." He grinned, recovering some of his buoyancy. "Besides—without your ships, how should
we
live? So it was in our interest to ensure that you survived. We readied all our own boats-—more than a score—and built strong, water-tight rafts to tow behind them, taking all our folk from Fyean—our whole island's name—since we did not wish to leave our women and children unprotected." Artek stopped, lowering his eyes. "Ah, how I wish we had left them. Then, at least, they might have died in their own homes and not on the shifting shores of that terrible island."

Ilbrec, who had squeezed himself into the hall to hear Artek's story, said quietly: "Where is this island?"

"A little to the north and west of Clonghar. The storm drove us in that direction. During the same storm we lost most of our water and much of our meat. Do you know the place, Sir Sidhi?"

"Has it a single high hill, very even in its proportions, at its center?"

Artek inclined his head. "It has."

"And does one huge pine tree grow on the peak of that hill at the exact center?"

"There is the biggest pine I have ever seen there," agreed Artek. "When you have landed does everything seem to shimmer and

threaten to change its appearance, save for that hill which remains sharp and solid in outline?"

"You have been there!" said Artek.

"No," said Ilbrec. "I have only heard of the place." And he darted a very hard stare at Goffanon, who affected to be without interest in this island and looked studiously bored. But Corum knew the dwarf well enough to see that Goffanon was deliberately ignoring the import of Ilbrec's glance.

"We sea-warriors have passed the island before, of course, but since it is often surrounded by mist and there are hidden rocks at various points off its coast, we have never actually landed there. We have never had the necessity to do so."

"Though some have been thought shipwrecked there in the past and never found," added the eager youth Kawanh. "There are superstitions about the place—that it is inhabited by Shef anhow and such
..."
His voice trailed off.

"Is it sometimes called Ynys Scaith, this place?" asked Ilbrec, still thoughtful.

"I have heard it called that, aye," Artek agreed."It is an old, old name for the place."

"So you have been to Shadow Island." Ilbrec shook his fair head, half amused. "Fate draws at more threads than we guessed, eh, Goffanon?"

But Goffanon pretended that he had not heard Ilbrec, though later Corum saw him offer his fellow Sidhi a secret, warning glance.

"Aye and that is where we saw Prince Corum here—or his double—" blurted Kawanh, then stopped. "I apologise, Prince Corum," he said. "I had not meant . . ."

Corum smiled. "Perhaps it was my shadow you saw. After
all,
the place is called Ynys Scaith—the Isle of Shadows. An evil shadow, however." His smile faded on his face.

"I have heard of Ynys Scaith.'' Until this moment Amergin had said nothing beyond a formal greeting to Artek and his men. "A place of dark sorcery where evil druids would go to work their magic. A place shunned even by the Sidhi
..."
And now it was Amergin's turn to look meaningfully at both Ilbrec and Goffanon, and Corum guessed that the wise Archdruid had also noticed the exchange of glances between the two Sidhi. "Ynys Scaith, so I was taught as a novice, existed even before the corning of the Sidhi. It shares certain properties with the Sidhi isle of Hy-Breasail, but is in other ways unlike that place. Where Hy-Breasail was supposed to be a land of fair enchantments, Ynys Scaith was said to be an island of black madness
..."

"Aye," growled Goffanon. "It is, to say the least, inhospitable to Sidhi and Mabden alike."

"You have been there, Goffanon?" Amergin asked gently.

But Goffanon had become wary again. "Once," he said.

"Black madness and red despair," put in Artek. "When we landed there we found ourselves unable to return to our ships. Disgusting forests grew up in our path. Mists engulfed us. Demons attacked us. All kinds of misshapen beasts lurked in wait for us. They destroyed all our children. They slew all our women and most of our menfolk. We are the only ones, of the whole race of Fyean, who survived—and that by luck, stumbling accidentally upon one of our ships and sailing directly for your shores.'' Artek shuddered. "Even if I knew my wife was still alive and trapped upon Ynys Scaith I would not return." Artek clenched his two hands together. "I could not."

"She is dead," said Kawanh gently. He was comforting his leader. "I saw it happen."

"How could we be sure that what we saw was in any way reality!" Artek's eyes filled with agony.

"No," said Kawanh. "She is dead, Artek."

"Aye," Artek's hands parted. His shoulders slumped. "She is dead."

"Now you know why I would have no part of your idea," murmured Goffanon to Ilbrec.

Corum looked away from the still shaking Artek of Clonghar. He looked at the two Sidhi. "Is that where you thought we should find allies, Ilbrec?"

Ilbrec motioned with his hand, dismissing his own idea. "It was."

"Nothing but evil comes from Ynys Scaith," Goffanon said. "Only evil, no matter how disguised."

"I had not realized
..."
Amergin reached out and touched Artek upon the shoulder. "Artek, I will give you a potion that will make you sleep and will ensure that you will not dream. In the morning you will be a man again."

The sun was setting over the camp. Ilbrec and Corum walked toward the Sidhi's blue tent. From a score of cooking fires came the mingled smells of a variety of meals. Nearby a boy sang of heroes and great deeds in a high, melancholy voice. They entered the tent.

"Poor Artek," said Corum.
"
What allies had you hoped to find on Ynys Scaith?"

Ilbrec shrugged. "Oh, I thought that the inhabitants—certain of them, at least, might be bribed to side with us. I suppose that my judgement was poor, as Goffanon said."

"Artek and his followers thought they saw me there," Corum told him. "They thought I was one of those who slew their companions."

"That puzzles me," said Ilbrec. "I have heard of nothing like that before. Perhaps you do have a twin . . . Did you ever have a brother?"

''A brother?" Corum was reminded of the old woman's prophecy. "No. But I was warned to fear one. I thought the warning might apply to Gaynor who, spiritually in some ways, is a brother. Or whoever it is lying under the hill in the oak grove. But now I think that brother awaits me in Ynys Scaith."

"Awaits you?" Ilbrec was alarmed. "You do not mean to visit the Isle of Shadows?"

"It occurred to me that those powerful enough to destroy the best part of the people of Fyean, fearsome enough to terrify one as brave as Artek, would be good allies to have," said Corum. "Besides, I would face this 'brother' and discover who he is and why I should fear him."

"It is unlikely that you would survive the dangers of Ynys Scaith," mused Ilbrec, seating himself in his great chair and drumming his fingers upon his table.

"I am in a mood to take most risks with my own destiny," said
Corum softly, "so long as it is not to the disadvantage to these Mabden we serve."

"I, too." Ilbrec's sea-blue eyes met Corum's eye. "But the Mabden march to Caer Llud the day after tomorrow and you must lead them in their war."

"That is what stops me from sailing immediately to Ynys Scaith," said Corum. "That is all."

"You fear not for your own life—your sanity—perhaps your soul?"

"I am called Champion Eternal. What is death, or madness to me, who shall live many more lives than this? How can my soul be trapped if it is needed elsewhere? If anyone has the chance of visiting Ynys Scaith and returning, then surely it is Corum of the Silver Hand?"

"Your logic has flaws," said Ilbrec. He looked broodingly into the middle-distance. "But you are right in one point—you are the best-fitted to seek Ynys Scaith."

"And there I could attempt to employ its inhabitants in our service."

"They would be of great use to us," admitted Ilbrec.

Cold air came into the tent as the flap parted. Goffanon stood there, his axe upon his shoulder. "Good evening, my friends," he said.

They greeted him. He sat himself down on Ilbrec's war-chest, placing his axe carefully beside him. He looked from Corum to Ilbrec and back again. He read something in both their faces that disturbed him. "Well," he said, "I hope you heard enough just now to dissuade you from the foolhardy scheme Ilbrec was considering earlier."

"You planned to go there?" Corum asked.

Ilbrec spread his hands. "I had thought
..."

"I have been there," interrupted Goffanon. "That was my bad luck. My good luck was that I managed to escape. Evil druids used that island before the Mabden grew to power on this plane. It existed as a place before the rising of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, even—though it was not then on this plane."

"Then how came it here?" asked Corum.

Ilbrec cleared his throat. "An accident. For some reason there were those who grew powerful enough in its own plane to be able to destroy it. As fate would have it this was at the time when we Sidhi were coming through to help the Mabden against the Fhoi Myore.

The inhabitants of Ynys Scaith were able to break through to this plane under cover of our own movements so, indirectly, the Sidhi are responsible for that place of horror existing here. Thus Ynys Scaith escaped the vengeance of the people of its own world, yet I heard that this world is inhospitable to them—they cannot leave their island without certain aids or they inevitably die. They seek a means of returning to their own plane or some other more hospitable to them. Thus far they have been unsuccessful. That is why I thought we might bargain with them to come to our aid—if we offered to help them."

"They would betray us, no matter what bargain they made with us," Goffanon said. "It is as much in their nature to do so as it is in our nature to breathe air."

"We should have to guard against such a happening," said Ilbrec.

Goffanon gestured impatiently. "We could not. Listen to me, Ilbrec! Once I had the notion to visit Ynys Scaith, during the quiet times following the defeat of the Fhoi Myore. I knew what the Mabden said of Hy-Breasail, my own home—that it was inhabited by demons. I thought, therefore, that probably Ynys Scaith was a similar place—that while Mabden perished there, Sidhi would survive. I was wrong. What Hy-Breasail is to the Mabden, so Ynys Scaith is to the Sidhi. It belongs neither to this plane nor to ours. Moreover, the inhabitants use the properties of their land deliberately to torture and to slay all visitors not of their own kind."

"Yet you escaped," put in Corum. "And Artek and a few others survived."

"By luck in both cases. Artek told you that they found their ship by purest chance. Similarly, I stumbled into the sea. Once clear of Ynys Scaith I could not be followed by the inhabitants. I swam for more than a day before I reached an island little more than a crag of rock jutting from the sea. There I remained until sighted by a ship. They were wary of me, but they took me aboard and eventually I made my way back to Hy-Breasail and never left thereafter."