The Oak and the Ram - 04 (19 page)

And then he saw a face staring back at him from one of the broken windows of the castle. It was a handsome face, a face with a skin of gold; a mocking face.

Corum called hoarsely: "Dagdagh! Is it Dagdagh?"

And he heard laughter which became the music of a harp.

Corum drew his sword. Below him the sea foamed and leapt on the rocks at the foot of the cliff. He prepared to leap the gulf, to seek out the youth with the skin of gold, to demand why the youth plagued him so. He poised himself, caring not if he fell and died. And then he felt a soft, strong hand upon his shoulder. He tried to shake it free, still crying: "Dagdagh! Let me be!"

Medhbh's voice said close to his ear, "Dagdagh is our friend, Corum. Dagdagh saved our High King."

Corum turned towards her and saw her troubled eyes staring into his single eye.

"Put away your sword," she said. "There is no one there."

"Did you not hear the music of his harp?"

^‘
‘
1
heard the wind making music in the crannies of Castle Owyn. That is what I heard."

^“
You did not see his face, his mocking face?"

"I
saw a cloud move across the moon," she said. "Come back now, Corum, to our celebrations."

And he sheathed his sword and he sighed and he let her lead him back to Caer Mahlod.

EPILOGUE

And that was the end of the Tale of the Oak and the Ram.

Messengers went across the sea, taking the news to all: The High King was restored to his folk. They sailed to the West to tell King Fiachadh of the Tuha-na-Manannan (named for Ilbrec
^’
s own family Corum now knew) and they sailed to the North where the Tuha-na-Tir-nam-Beo were told the news. And they told the Tuha-na-Ana and they told King Daffyn of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir. And wherever they found Mabden tribes they told them that the High King dwelled at Caer Mahlod, that Amergin debated the question of war against the Fhoi Myore and that the representatives of all the tribes of the Mabden race were called there to plan the last great fight which would decide who ruled the Islands of the West.

In the smithies there was a clanging and roaring as swords were fashioned, and axes made and spears honed under the direction of that greatest of all smiths, Goffanon.

And there was excitement and optimism in the homes of the Mabden as they wondered what Corum of the Silver Hand and Amergin the Archdruid would decide and where the battle would take place and when it would begin.

And others listened to Ilbrec who would sit in the fields and tell them the tales he had heard from his father, who many thought to be the greatest of the Sidhi heroes—tales of the Nine Fights against the Fhoi Myore and the deeds which were done. And they were heartened by these tales (some of which they knew) and glad to understand that the heroism which had been thought to be the fanciful invention of bards had actually taken place.

And only when they saw Corum, pale and pensive, his head bent as if he listened for a voice he could not quite hear, did they consider the tragedy of those tales, of the great hearts which had been stilled in the service of their race.

And at those times did the folk of Caer Mahlod become thoughtful and at those times they understood the enormity of the sacrifice made for their cause by the Vadhagh Prince called Corum of the Silver Hand.