"The Karach's master is dead," said Corum. "Goffanon slew him. The Karach took Calatin into the sea. It was the last we saw of both. We have already fought this changeling, you see."
Corum looked from weary face to weary face and he saw that the expressions were changing. Most were at least prepared to listen to him now.
"And why did you all return," said Medhbh, pushing back her long red hair, "when you knew that the position was hopeless here?"
"What could we gain by aiding you? Is that what you mean?" said Jhary-a-Conel.
Hisak pointed a finger at Jhary. "I saw you riding with Calatin, also. Ilbrec is the only one here who was not evidently in league with our enemies."
"We returned," said Corum, "because we had achieved the object of our quest to Ynys Scaith and brought you aid."
"Aid?" Amergin looked hard at Corum. "Of the kind we discussed."
‘ 'Of exactly that kind.'' Corum indicated the black and white cat and the bronze and gold casket. "Here it is . . ."
"It does not take the form I expected," said Amergin.
"And there is this ..." Ilbrec was dragging something from one of his panniers. "Doubtless brought in some ship wrecked upon the shores of Ynys Scaith. I recognized it at once." And he displayed the cracked, ancient saddle he had found on the beach.
Amergin sighed with surprise and stretched his hands towards the saddle."I know it. It is the last of our treasures to remain unlocated, save for the Collar and the Cauldron, which still reside in Caer Llud."
"Aye," said Ilbrec, "and doubtless you know the prophecy attached to this saddle?"
"I do not recall any definite prophecy," Amergin said. "I was always puzzled as to why such an evidently useless old saddle was included in our treasures."
"It is Laegaire's saddle," said Ilbrec. "Laegaire was my uncle. He died in the last of the Nine Fights. He was half-mortal, you'll recall. . ."
"And he rode the Yellow Stallion," said Amergin, "which could only be ridden by one who was pure in spirit and who fought in a just cause. So that is why this saddle has been preserved with our other treasures."
"That is why. But I do not mention all this merely in order to pass the time. I know how to call the Yellow Stallion. And thus I might have the means of proving to you that Corum does not lie. Let me call the Stallion, then let Corum try to ride the beast. If it accepts him, then you will know that he is pure in spirit and that he fights in a just cause—your cause."
Amergin looked at his companions. "This seems fair," said the High King.
Only Medhbh was reluctant to accept Amergin's judgement."It could be a sorcerous trick," she said.
''I will know if it is,'' said Amergin."I am Amergin. Forget not that, Queen Medhbh."
And she accepted her High King's rebuke and turned away.
"Let a space be cleared near the altar," said Ilbrec, carrying the saddle carefully to the great stone slab and placing it thereon.
They stood away from the altar, on the fringes of the first circle of monoliths, and they watched as Ilbrec turned his golden head toward the cold sky and spread his huge arms so that what little light there was gleamed on his red gold bracelets, and Corum was suddenly impressed anew of the power emanating from this noble, barbaric god, the son of Manannan. And Ilbrec began to chant:
In all nine great fights did Laegaire struggle.
Small though he was, his bravery was huge. No Sidhi fought better and none more cunningly
For the Mabden cause.
Laegaire was his name, of undying honor, Famous for his humility, he rode the Yellow Steed,
And led the charge at Slieve Gullion, Though few warriors then remained.
The day was won, but Goim 's javelin had found him, And Laegaire lay in warm, wet crimson,
His head upon his saddle, dying a warrior’s death, While his yellow horse wept.
Few were left to hear it when Laegaire named his heir,
Calling to the oak and alder as witness, Saying that he had owned nothing but life and his steed;
His life he gave willingly to the Mabden.
To the Yellow Stallion Laegaire granted freedom,
Making only one condition on him: If again Old Night threatened, he must return
And a pure Champion serve in the Mabden cause.
So, dying, Laegaire told his witnesses to take his saddle,
A reminder of his noble oath, Saying that he who could sit in it would prove true,
That the Yellow Stallion would know him.
In summer fields the Stallion grazes,
Awaiting Laegaire's heir; Now in Laegaire's name we call him;
To charge again upon Old Night.
And now Ilbrec sank upon his knees before the altar on which the old, cracked saddle stood, and his last words were uttered in what was almost an exhausted sigh.
Save from the noises in the distance, the boomings and the bowlings, there was silence. None moved. Ilbrec remained where he was, his head lowered. They waited.
And then there came a new sound from somewhere, but none could tell from which direction, whether from above them or below, but it was the unmistakable sound of a horse's hooves galloping closer. This way and that they looked, but nowhere could they see the horse, yet still it came closer until it seemed to be within the stone circle. They heard a snorting, a high, proud whinnying, the stamping of metal shod hooves on frozen ground.
Then suddenly Ilbrec lifted his head and laughed.
And a yellow horse stood there on the other side of the altar, an ugly horse which yet had nobility in its bearing and a look of warm intelligence in its marigold-colored eyes. Its breath poured from its flared nostrils and it tossed its mane and it looked expectantly at Ilbrec, who got slowly from his knees and picked the saddle up in his two huge hands and placed it gently upon the back of the Yellow Stallion, and patted the beast's neck, and spoke to it lovingly, mentioning Laegaire's name frequently.
Ilbrec turned, gesturing toward Corum:
"Now, Corum, try to mount the horse. If he accepts you it will prove to all that you can be no betrayer of the Mabden."
Hesitantly, Corum stepped forward. At first the Yellow Stallion snorted and backed away, flattening its ears against its head, studying Corum with those intelligent eyes.
Corum put a hand upon the pommel of the saddle and the Yellow Stallion turned its head to inspect him, sniffing him. Corum climbed carefully into the saddle and the Yellow Stallion lowered its long head to the ground and unconcernedly began to nose about in the snow for grass. It had accepted him.
So now the Mabden cheered him, calling him Cremm Croich, Llaw Ereint, and the Hero of the Silver Hand, their Champion. And Medhbh, who was now Queen Medhbh, came forward with tears in her eyes, stretching out her soft hand to Corum but saying nothing. And Corum took her hand, bent his head and kissed her hand with his lips.
"And now we must consult," said Goffanon, his voice brisk. "What are we to do against the Fhoi Myore?" He stood beneath one of the arches, resting his hand upon the haft of his axe, and he stared beyond the stone circles of Craig Don into a mist which appeared to be thickening.
Sactric, in the form of the black and white cat, spoke in a quiet, dry tone. "Ideally, I would gather, it would suit you if the Fhoi Myore were where you are now and you were elsewhere ..."
Amergin nodded. "That is assuming that the Fhoi Myore have real reason to avoid Craig Don. If it is merely a superstition, then we are lost."
Sactric said: "I do not think it merely superstition, Amergin. I, too, understand the power of Craig Don. I must consider how best I can help you, but I must have your assurance that you, in mm, will help me if I am successful on your behalf."
"Once I have the Collar of Power again,'' said the Archdruid,' T can help you. Of that I am certain."
"Very well, you have made the bargain." Sactric seemed satisfied.
"Aye," said Goffanon grimly from where he stood, "we have made the bargain."
Corum looked enquiringly at
his friend, but the Sidhi dwarf would say no more.
Medhbh whispered in Corum's ear as he dismounted: "I thought I would not be able to do this, but now I know that I was mistaken, there is a charm I have which will help you, of that I have been assured."
"A charm?"
She said:"Give me that hand of silver for a little while. I have the means to make it stronger than it is."
He smiled. "But Medhbh, I need no extra strength ..."
"You will need every thing anyone can give in the coming struggle," she insisted.
"Where did you get this charm?'' To humor her he began to take out the little pins which secured the hand to his wrist stump."From an old wise woman?"
She evaded answering him. "It will work," she said. "I have been promised that."
He shrugged and handed her the beautifully wrought silver thing. "You must let me have it back soon," he said, "for it will not be long before I go to do battle with the Fhoi Myore."
She nodded. "Soon, Corum." And she darted at him a look of considerable affection so that again his heart was lightened and he was able to smile. Then she took his silver hand into her small tent of skins, to the left of the altar, while Corum discussed the problems of the moment with Amergin, Ilbrec, Goffanon, Jhary-a-Conel, Morkyan of the Two Smiles, and the other remaining Mabden war-knights.
By the time Medhbh had returned and given Corum back the metal hand, offering him a reassuring and significant glance, they had determined what their best course of action would be.
With Terhali's help, Sactric would conjure a vast illusion, to transform Craig Don into a form which the Fhoi Myore would not fear, but before that could be engineered, the Mabden must risk the few warriors they had left in a final attack upon the Cold Folk and their vassals.
"We take a considerable risk," said Amergin, watching Corum strap the silver hand back upon his wrist, "and we must be prepared for the possibility that none of us will survive. We might all be dead before Sactric and Terhali can keep their part of our bargain."
And Corum looked at Medhbh and he saw that she loved him again, and the prospect of dying saddened him then.
THE THIRD CHAPTER
THE STRUGGLE AGAINST OLD NIGHT
And now they went, for the last time, upon the Fhoi Myore, and they were proud in their ragged armor and they carried their shredded standards high. Chariots moaned as their wheels began to turn; horses stamped upon the ground and snorted, and the booted feet of marching men began to mump like the beating of a martial drum. Pipes skirled, fifes wailed, tabors rattled, and all that remained of the Mabden strength poured out of the sanctuary of Craig Don to do battle with the Cold Folk.
And all that remained, perched upon the old stone altar, were a small black and white cat and a box of bronze and gold.
Corum led them, riding the Yellow Stallion, the moon-colored sword Traitor in his hand of flesh, a round war-board upon his left arm, and two javelins in his silver hand (with which he also held the reins of the yellow steed). And Corum felt the power and the confidence of the horse he rode and he was glad. And on one side of Corum rode the High King, the Archdruid Amergin, disdaining armor and clad in flowing robes of blue over which were draped furs of ermine and the skin of the winter doe, and on the other side of Corum rode the proud Queen Medhbh, all in stiff armor, her crown upon her shining helm, her red hair flowing free and mingling with the heavy furs of the bear and the wolf, her sling at her belt and her sword in her hand; she smiled once at Corum before he had ridden past the last stone circle and into the thickness of the mist, calling:
"Fhoi Myore! Fhoi Myore! Here is Corum come to destroy you!"
And the Yellow Stallion opened its ugly mouth and displayed discoloured teeth and from its curling lips there issued a peculiar noise that was like nothing but defiant, sardonic laughter, and then it leapt forward suddenly and it was plain its marigold-colored eyes could see easily through the mist, for it carried Corum surely toward his enemies, as it had carried its old master Laegaire into the last and ninth of his fights, at Slieve Gullion.
"Hai, Fhoi Myore! You'll not hide for long in your mist!" Corum called, drawing his fur collar around his mouth to keep out as much of the cold as he could.
For a moment he saw a huge, dark shape looming close by, but then it had gone again, and then he heard the familiar creak of wicker, the shambling sounds of the Fhoi Myore's malformed beasts of burden, and then he heard soft laughter that was not Fhoi Myore laughter, and he turned and he saw what at first appeared to be a fire flickering, but it was the armor of Prince Gaynor the Damned, glowing crimson and yellow and then scarlet, and behind Gaynor rode a score of Pine Warriors, their pale green faces set, their green eyes glaring, their green bodies astride green horses. Corum turned to face them, hearing Ilbrec's voice shouting to Goffanon from another part of the field:
"Beware, Goffanon, it is Goim!"
But Corum could not see how Ilbrec and Goffanon fared against the horrid female Fhoi Myore, and he had no time to call out, for now Prince Gaynor came charging down, and he heard only the old, familiar note of the horn which Goffanon blew again to confuse the Ghoolegh and the Hounds of Kerenos.
The Arms of Chaos, the eight-arrowed sign, burned bright on Gaynor's breastplate as he charged, and the sword in his hand shifted its colors from gold to silver and then to sky-blue, while Gaynor's bitter laughter sounded from behind his featureless helm and he sang out:
"Now I face you at last, Corum, for this is the time!"
And Corum raised his round shield and Gaynor's flickering sword bit hard into the silver rim and Corum struck with his own moon-colored sword Traitor at Gaynor's helm and Gaynor yelled as the blade almost pierced the metal.
Gaynor dragged his sword free and hesitated. "You have a new sword, Corum?"
"Aye. It is called Traitor. Is it not fine, Gaynor?" Corum laughed, knowing his old enemy to be disconcerted.
"I do not think it is your destiny to defeat me in this fight, brother," said Gaynor thoughtfully.
Elsewhere Medhbh was engaged with half a score of Ghoolegh, but was giving a good account of herself, Corum saw, before the mist obscured her again.
"Why call me brother?" Corum said.
‘ 'Because our fates are so closely linked. Because we are what we are . . ."
And Corum wondered again if the old woman's prophecy had referred to Gaynor as the one he must fear. Fear beauty, she had said, fear a harp, and fear a brother ...
And with a yell Corum urged his laughing horse at Gaynor, and Traitor struck again and seemed to pierce the armor protecting Gaynor's shoulder so that Gaynor shrieked and his armor burned an angry crimson. Thrice he struck back at Corum while the Vadhagh Prince tried to dislodge his sword from Gaynor's shoulder, but all three blows landed on Coram's shield and succeeded only in numbing Coram's arm.
‘ ‘I like this not,' ‘ said Gaynor.’ T knew nothing of a sword called Traitor." But then he seemed to pause and speak in a different, more hopeful tone. ‘'Would it kill me, do you think, Corum?"
Corum shrugged. "You must ask Goffanon the Sidhi smith that question. He forged the blade."
But Gaynor was already turning his horse about, for Mabden with brands had emerged from the mist and with fire were driving the Pine Warriors back, for that part of the warriors that was brother to the tree feared fire above all else. And Gaynor called to his men to rally, to press the attack against the Mabden, and soon he was lost in the midst of the Pine Warriors, once more abdicating from a direct conflict with Corum, for Corum was the only mortal who could fill Gaynor the Damned with terror.
And for an instant Corum found himself alone, knowing not where his enemies lurked or where his friends were, but hearing the sounds of battle all around him in the chilling mist.
And then from behind him he heard a small groaning noise which grew until it became a sort of bleat, and then a deep, melancholy honking, at once stupid and menacing, and Corum remembered that voice and knew that Balahr sought him, remember
ing how Corum had once wounded him. And he heard the creaking of a great wicker battle-cart, and there came to his nostrils the stink of sickness, the odor of diseased flesh, and he controlled his wish to flee away from the source of that stink, and he readied himself at last to face the Fhoi Myore. The Yellow Stallion reared once, its hooves lashing at the air, then became quiet and tense, watching the mist with its warm, intelligent eyes.
Corum saw a black shape approaching; it moved with a lurching, unsteady gait as if two legs on one side were shorter than the others; large, blubbery lumps jutted from its body and its head lolled as if its neck had been snapped. Corum saw a red, toothless mouth, watery eyes set asymmetrically on the left side of its head, blue-green nostrils blowing shreds and scraps of leathery skin with every exhalation as, painfully, it dragged its master's chariot behind it. And in the chariot, steadying itself by means of one grotesque arm braced against the wicker wall, its body all covered in a kind of wiry, matted fur spotted with patches of something resembling the moid which grows on decaying food, with patches of bare skin bearing a form of flaking yellow eczema, stood Balahr, booming out his insensate anger. And Balahr's face was red, as if something had chewed it, and there were sores on it and pieces of raw flesh on it, and in places the bones showed through it, for Balahr, like his fellows, was slowly dying of a dreadful, rotting disease, the result of their inhabiting this alien plane for too long. And on Balahr's left cheek something opened and closed and it was Balahr's mouth, and, above the mouth and the eaten-away nose, there was a single huge lid of dead flesh covering Balahr's terrible, freezing eye, and from the eyelid there ran a wire secured to the flesh by a great hook, and the wire had been passed over Balahr's skull and under his arm pit and the end of the wire was held in Balahr's hand, his two-fingered hand.
The honking became more agitated, the head turned, seeking out Corum and Corum thought he heard his own name issue from Balahr's lips, he thought they formed the word "Corum," but he guessed that this was his imagination.
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