The Oak and the Ram - 04 (5 page)

They
rode beside a frozen river, along a track now completely hidden by the snow, climbing higher and higher into the hills. They
rode
past a house whose stone walls had been cracked open as if by the blow of a gigantic hammer and it was only when they were close
did
they see the white skulls peering from the windows and the
white
hands gesturing in attitudes of terror. The bones shimmered in the pale sunshine.

' 'Frozen,'' said Jhary.' 'And cold it was which doubtless cracked
the
stones."

"Balahr's work," said Corum. "He of the single, deadly eye. I
know
him. I have fought him."

And
they went past the house and over the hill, finding a town
where
the frozen corpses lay strewn about; these still had flesh on
them
and had plainly died before the cold had frozen them. And each male had been horribly desecrated.

' 'The work of Goim,'' said Corum.' 'The only female of the Fhoi Myore still surviving. She has a taste for certain morsels of mortal flesh."

"We are at the borders of the lands where the Fhoi Myore hold full sway,'' said Jhary-a-Conel pointing ahead to where gray Clouds boiled. "Shall we suffer so? Shall Balahr or Goim find us."

"It is possible," Corum told him.

Jhary grinned. "You are most sober, old friend. Well, console yourself that if they do these things to us we shall remain in a position of moral superiority/'

Corum grinned back. "It does console me," he said, "nonetheless!"

And they led their horses out of the town and down a steep, snow-filled track, passing a cart full of the frozen bodies of children doubtless sent to flee the place before the Fhoi Myore descended.

And they entered a valley where the bodies of a whole army of warriors had been eaten by dogs, and here they found fresh tracks— the tracks of a single rider and three large hounds.

"Gaynor also goes this way," said Corum, "a mere few hours ahead of us. Why does he dally now?"

'Perhaps he watches us. Perhaps he tries to guess the purpose of our quest,'' Jhary suggested. ‘ ‘ With such information he can return to his masters and be welcomed."

'If the Fhoi Myore welcome anyone. They do not recruit help, as such. There are some—the resurrected dead among them—who have no choice but to follow them and do their work for them, for they are welcome nowhere else."

"How do the Fhoi Myore resurrect the dead?"

"There is one of the six called Rhannon, I believe. Rhannon breathes cold breath into the mouths of the dead and brings them to life. He kisses the living and introduces them to death. That is the legend. But few know much of the Fhoi Myore. Even the Fhoi Myore hardly know what they do or why they are upon this plane. Once they were driven away by the Sidhi who came from another plane themselves to help the people of Lwym-an-Esh. But with the decline of the Sidhi, the Fhoi Myore strength grew unchecked until they were able to return to the land and begin their conquerings. Their diseases must kill them soon. Few, I understand, will live for more than another thousand years. Then, when the Fhoi Myore die, the whole of this world shall be dead."

"It would seem," said Jhary-a-Conel, "that we could do with a few Sidhi allies."

"The only one I know is called Goffanon and he is weary of fighting. He accepts that the world is doomed and that nothing he can do will avert that doom."

"He could be right," said Jhary feelingly, looking about him.

And then Corum lifted his head, peering this way and that, his face troubled.

Jhary was surprised. "What is it?"

' 'Do you not hear it?" Corum looked up into the hills from which they had come. He could hear it quite plainly now—melancholy, wild, somehow mocking. The strains of a harp.

"Who would play music here?" Jhary murmured. "Save a dirge?’' He listened again.' 'And it sounds as if it could be a dirge.''

"Aye," said Corum grimly. "A dirge for me. I have heard the harp more than once since I came to this realm, Jhary. And I have been told to fear a harp.’'

"It is beautiful, however,’’ said Jhary.

"I have been told to fear beauty, also,'‘ said Corum. He still could not find the source of the music. He realized that he was trembling and he controlled himself, urging his horse onward. "I have been told that I shall be slain," he continued,' 'by a brother. ‘'

And Jhary, asking questions, could get Corum to speak no further on this subject. They rode for some miles in silence until they came out of the valley and looked upon a wide plain.

' 'The Plain of Craig Don,' ‘ said Corum. ‘’It is all it can be. This is thought a holy place by the Mabden. We are more than half-way to Caer Llud now, I think.’'

"And well into the Lands of the Fhoi Myore," added Jhary-a-Conel.

Even as they watched, a blizzard swept suddenly over the great plain from East to West and was gone again, leaving fresh snow sparkling as a woman might lay a fresh sheet upon a bed.

"We'll leave good tracks in that," said Jhary.

Corum was marveling at the strange sight as the fast-moving blizzard moved away into the distance. Overhead the sun was fully obscured by clouds. The clouds were agitated. They swirled restlessly all the time, changing shape swiftly.

"I am reminded somewhat of the Realm of Chaos," Jhary told him.' 'And I have been told that such frozen landscapes as these are the ultimate landscapes of worlds where the Lords of Entropy are triumphant. This is what their wasteful variety achieves. But I speak of other worlds and other heroes—indeed, of other dreams. Shall we risk the dangers of detection upon that plain, or shall we circle the plain and hope that we are not seen?"

' 'We cross the Plain of Craig Don," said Corum firmly.' 'And if we are stopped and have time to speak, we shall say that we have come to offer our services to the Fhoi Myore, knowing that the Mabden cause is hopeless."

"There seem few here of any intelligence, as I understand by intelligence,’’ said Jhary. "Will they give us that time to converse, do you think?"

"We must hope that there are more like Gaynor."

"An odd thing to hope!" exclaimed Jhary. He smiled at his cat, but it merely purred without apparently understanding its master's joke.

The wind howled then and Jhary bowed to it, pretending to assume that it was showing its appreciation.

Corum clutched his fur robe to him. Though it had been ripped in several places by the Hounds of Kerenos, it was still serviceable.

"Come," he said. "Let us cross the Plain of Craig Don."

The snow was in constant movement beneath their horses' feet, eddying like an agitated river over rocks. The wind blew it this way and that. The wind made the snowdrifts heave and fall and re-form. The wind drove into their bones so that sometimes they felt they would rather have cold steel in them than that wind. The wind sighed like a huntsman satisfied by his kill. It moaned like a satiated lover and growled like a hungry beast. It shouted like a conqueror and hissed like a striking snake and blew fresh snow from the sky. Their shoulders would be heaped with this snow until it was blown clear again and a new deposit laid in its place. The wind blew roads through the snow for them and then sealed them up again. It blew from the East and from the North and from the West and the South. Sometimes it seemed that the wind blew from all directions at once, seeking to crush them as they pressed on across the Plain of Craig Don. The wind built castles and tore them down. It whispered promises and roared threats, toying with them.

Then, through the swirl and the confusion, Corum saw dark shapes ahead. At first he thought them warriors and, dismounting, drew his sword, for his horse would be of no help to him in this depth of snow. He sank to his knees in the stuff. Jhary remained on horseback however.

"Fear not," he said to Corum. "They are not men. They are stones. They are the stones of Craig Don."

And Corum realized that he had misjudged the distance, and the objects were still some good distance ahead.

"This is the holy place of the Mabden," said Jhary.

' 'This is where they elect their High Kings and hold their important ceremonies," said Corum.

"It is where they once did these things," Jhary corrected him. Even the wind appeared to drop as they approached the great stones, seeming to show reverence for this great, old place.

There were seven circles in all, each circle containing another until the center of all of them was reached, and the innermost circle contained a large stone altar. Looking out from the center and down the hill, Corum fancied the concentric stone circles represented ripples in a pool, planes of reality, representations of a geometry not wholly connected with Earthly geometry. "It is a holy place," he murmured. "It is."

"Certainly it touches upon something I cannot explain," Jhary agreed. "Does it not remind you in some ways of Tanelorn?"

"Tanelorn? Perhaps. Is this their Tanelorn?"

^‘
’Geographically speaking, I think it might be. Tanelorn is not always a city. Sometimes it is a thing. Sometimes it is merely an idea. And this—this is the representation of an idea."

"So primitive in its materials and the working of those materials," said Corum, "yet so subtle in its conception. What minds created Craig Don, I wonder?"

' 'Mabden minds. Those you serve. This, too, is why they cannot bring themselves to unite against the Fhoi Myore. This was the center of their world. It reminded them of their faith and of their dignity. Now that they can no longer travel upon their two great yearly visits to Craig Don, their souls starve and, starving, rob them of their strength of will."

' 'We must find a means of giving Craig Don back to them, then,'' said Corum firmly.

"But first give them their High King, he who possesses all the wisdom of those who spend whole weeks fasting and meditating at Craig Don's altar." Jhary leaned against one of the great stone pillars. "Or so they say," he added, as if embarrassed by having been caught uttering an approving word for the place.' 'Not that it is my affair," he went on. "I mean, if—"

"Look who comes," said Corum. "And he appears to come alone."

It was Gaynor. He had appeared at the outer circle of stones and seemed so small at that distance that he could only be identified by his armor which, as usual, constantly changed color. He was not on horseback. He came walking through what was almost a tunnel made up of seven great arches, and, as he came within speaking distance, said:

"Some would have it that this temple, this Craig Don, is a representation of the Million Spheres, of the various planes of existence. But I do not think the local people sophisticated enough to understand such matters, do you?"

"Sophistication is not always measured by an ability to forge good steel or build large cities, Prince Gaynor," said Corum.

"Indeed no. I am sure that you are right. I have known worlds where the complexity of the natives' thought was equaled only by the squalor of their living conditions.'' The faceless helm turned to look up at the boiling sky. "More snow coming, I'd say. What do you think?''

"Have you been here long, Prince Gaynor?" said Corum, his hand upon the hilt of his sword.

"On the contrary, you seem to have preceded me. I have just arrived."

"But you knew we should be here?"

"I guessed this was your destination."

Corum tried to hid his interest. Gaynor was wrong. This was not his destination. But did Gaynor know a secret concerning Craig Don? A secret which might be to the advantage of the Mabden.

"This place seems free of wind," he said. "At least, it is freer than the plain itself. And no signs of the Fhoi Myore in Craig Don itself."

"Of course not. That is why you sought its sanctuary. You hope to understand why the Fhoi Myore fear it. You think you can find a means of defeating them here.'' Gaynor laughed. ' T knew that was your quest."

Corum restrained a secret smile. Without realizing it Gaynor had betrayed his masters.

"You are clever, Prince Gaynor."

Gaynor had come to a stop under an arch in the third circle. He moved no closer.

In the distance Corum heard the baying of the Hounds of Kerenos. He smiled openly now.' 'Your dogs fear this place, too?"

' 'Aye—they are Fhoi Myore dogs, come with them from Limbo. Their instincts warn them against Craig Don. Only Sidhi and mortals—even mortals such as I—can come here. And I fear the place, too, though I've little reason for my fears. The vortex cannot swallow Gaynor the Damned."