The Bull and the Spear

by Michael Moorcock

"No. Much more." Calatin fumbled among his papers and his equipment until he found a little bag of smooth, soft leather. ' 'This is watertight," he said. "You must use this."

  "What do you want? Magic water from a well?"

  ' 'No,'' said Calatin urgently, quietly.' 'You must bring me some of the spittle belonging to the Sidhi Smith, Goffanon. In this. Take it.'‘ He reached inside his robes and drew out the beautiful horn he had used to drive away the Hounds of Kerenos. "And take this. Blow it three times to drive them off. Blow it six times to set them upon an enemy."

  Corum fingered the ornate horn. "It must be a powerful thing, indeed," he murmured, "if it can match that of Kerenos." "It was once a Sidhi horn," Calatin told him.

  And an hour later Calatin had taken him to the far side of the mount where a little natural harbor still was. In the harbor was a small sailing boat. Calatin gave Corum a chart and a lodestone. Corum carried the hom at his belt now and his own weapons were upon his back.

  "Ah," said the wizard Calatin, fingering his own noble skull with trembling fingers, "perhaps at last I may have my ambition fulfilled. Do not fail, Prince Corum. For my sake, do not fail."

  'Tor the sake of the people of Caer Mahlod, for all the people who have not so far been slain by the Fhoi Myore, for the sake of a world in perpetual winter that might never see the spring again, I shall try not to fail, Wizard."

  And then the sea-wind had caught the sail and the boat sped out over the sparkling water, heading west to where Lwym-an-Esh and her beautiful cities had once been.

  And Corum fancied for a moment that he would find Lwym-an-Esh just as he had seen it last, and that all the rest, all the events of the past weeks, would be a dream.

  Moidel's Mount and the mainland were soon far behind, out of sight, and flat water lay all around him.

  If Lwym-an-Esh had survived, he would have seen it by this time. But lovely Lwym-an-Esh was not there. The stories of her sinking beneath the waves were true. And would the stories be true of Hy-Breasail? Was it really all that was left of the land? And would he be subject to the same illusions suffered by previous voyagers.

  He studied his charts. Soon he would know the answers. In another hour or so he would sight Hy-Breasail.

  THE SEVENTH CHAPTER

  THE DWARF GOFFANON

  Was this the beauty against which the old woman had warned him?

  Certainly it was beguiling. It could only be the island named Hy-Breasail. It was not what he had thought he would find for all that it bore resemblence to parts of Lwym-an-Esh. The breeze caught the sail of his boat and blew him closer to the coast.

  Surely there could be no danger here?

  Soft seas whispered on the white beaches and the light wind stirred the green branches of cypress trees, willows, poplars, oaks and strawberry trees. Gentle, rolling hills protected quiet valleys. Flowering rhododendron bushes bloomed with deep scarlets, purples and yellows. Warm, glowing light touched the landscape and gave it a faint, golden haze.

  Corum, as he looked upon the island, was filled with a deep sense of peace. He knew that he could rest there forever, that he would be content to lie beside the sparkling, winding rivers and walk over the sweet-smelling lawns looking at the deer, the squirrels and the birds which teemed there.

  Another Corum, a younger Corum, would have accepted this vision without question. After all, there had once been Vadhagh estates which resembled this island. But that had been the Vadhagh dream, and the Vadhagh dream was over. Now he inhabited the Mabden dream—perhaps even the Fhoi Myore dream which was overwhelming it. Was there a place in either of those dreams for the land of Hy-Breasail?

  So it was with a certain caution that Corum beached his boat upon the strand and then dragged it into the cover of some rhododendron bushes growing close to the shore. His weapons he adjusted in his harness so that they would be within easy reach and then he began to march inland, experiencing a certain guilt that so martial a figure as himself should be invading this peaceful place.

  As he walked through groves and across meadows he passed small herds of deer which showed no fear of him and, indeed, other animals which showed open curiosity and came closer to investigate this stranger. It was possible, Corum thought, that he was under the spell of a powerful illusion, but it was hard to believe on anything but the most abstract of levels. Yet no Mabden had ever returned from the place and many voyagers denied finding it at all, while the Fhoi Myore, fearsome and cruel, were terrified of setting foot here, though legend had it that they once had conquered the whole land of which only this part remained. There were many mysteries, thought Corum, concerning Hy-Breasail, but there was no denying the fact that, to a weary mind and an exhausted body, there could be no more perfect world.

  He smiled as he saw the bright butterflies fluttering through the summer air, the peacocks and pheasants serene upon the green lawns. Even at its finest the landscape of Lwym-an-Esh could not have equalled this.

  Yet there was no sign of habitation. There were no ruins, no houses—not even a cave where a man might dwell. And perhaps that was what made him retain a shade of suspicion concerning this paradise. Yet one being, surely, did live here, and that was the Smith Goffanon, who protected his domain with enchantments and terrors which were said to bring death to any who dared invade it.

  Subtle enchantments, indeed, thought Corum; and well-hidden terrors.

  He paused to look at a small waterfall which flowed over limestone rocks. Rowan trees grew on the banks of the clear stream and in the stream were small trout and grey ling. The sight of the fish, as well as the game he had seen earlier, began to make him feel hungry. He had eaten such poor fare since he had first come to Caer Mahlod, and he dearly wanted to unsling one of his lances and try to spear a fish. But something warned him against this action. It occurred to him—and it might have been a thought inspired by nothing more than superstition— that if he attacked even one of the denizens of the island, all the life of the island might turn against him. He determined to avoid killing so much as an irritating insect during his sojourn on Hy-Breasail and took, instead, a piece of dried meat from his pouch and began to gnaw on that as he walked. He was climbing uphill now, towards a great boulder which seemed perched on the very top of the slope.

  The climb became steeper the nearer to the top he got, but at last he reached the boulder and paused, leaning against it and looking about him. He had expected to see the whole of the island from this eminence, for it was certainly the highest hill he had spotted. But, strangely, he saw no sea at all in any direction.

  A peculiar shimmering mist, blue and flecked with gold, was on every horizon. It seemed to Corum to follow, perhaps, the coastline of the island, for it was irregular. Yet why had he not seen it when he first landed? Was it this mist which kept the eyes of most travellers from sight of Hy-Breasail?

  He shrugged. The day was warm and he was tired. He found a smaller rock in the shade of the great boulder and sat down on it, drawing a small flask of wine from his pouch and sipping it slowly as he let his gaze wander over the valleys, groves and streams of the island. Everywhere it was the same, as if carefully landscaped by a gardener of genius. He had already come to the conclusion that Hy-Breasail's countryside was not wholly natural in origin. It was more like a great park, such as the Vadhagh had created at the height of their culture. Perhaps that was why the animals were so tame, he thought. It could be that they all led protected lives and so trusted mortals like himself, having had no experience of danger at the hands of two-legged creatures. Yet he was again forced to remind himself of the Mabden who had not returned, of the Fhoi Myore who had conquered the place and then fled, fearing ever to return.

  He felt drowsy. He yawned and stretched himself out on the grass. His eyes closed and his mind began to wander a little as sleep slowly overwhelmed him.

  And he dreamed that he spoke to a youth whose flesh was all gold and from whom, in some odd way, a great harp grew. And the youth, who smiled without kindness, began t
o play upon this harp. And Medhbh the warrior-princess listened to the music as her face became full of hatred for Corum, and she found a shadowy figure who was Corum's enemy and directed him to slay Corum.

  And Corum woke up, still hearing the strange music of the harp. But the music faded before he could determine whether he had actually heard it or whether it had lingered on from his dream.

  The nightmare had been a cruel one and it had made him afraid. He never dreamed such a dream before. It was possible, he thought, that he was beginning to understand something of the peculiar dangers of this island. Perhaps it was in the nature of the island to turn men's minds in on themselves and let them create their own terrors—terrors far worse than any others which might be inflicted upon them. He would avoid sleep, if he could, from now on.

  And then he wondered if he were not still dreaming, for there came in the distance the familiar sound of the baying of hounds, the Hounds of Kerenos. Had they followed him to the island, swimming across a score of miles of sea? Or had they come already to Hy-Breasail, to wait for him. He touched the ornate horn at his belt as their yapping and howling came closer. He scanned the land for sight of them, but all he could see was a startled herd of deer led by a great stag bounding across a meadow and into a forest. Did the hounds pursue the herd? No. The hounds did not appear.

  He saw something else moving in a valley on the other side of the hill. He guessed that it was probably another deer, but then he realized that it ran on two legs in peculiar leaping bounds. It was heavy and tall, and it carried something which flashed whenever the sun's rays touched it. A man?

  Corum saw a white hide in the trees some distance behind the man. Then he saw another. Then there burst from the grove a pack of some twelve great dogs with tufted, red-tipped ears. The hounds pursued what was for them more familiar quarry than deer.

  The man—if man it was—began to leap up a rocky hillside, following the course of a big waterfall, but this did not deter the dogs, who kept implacably upon his track. The hillside became almost sheer, but still the man climbed—and still the dogs followed. Corum was amazed at their agility. Again something bright flashed. Corum realized that the man had turned and that the bright thing was a weapon which he was wielding to ward off the attack. It was obvious to Corum that the dogs' victim would not last for long. It was only then that he remembered the horn. Hastily he raised it to his lips and blew three long blasts in quick succession. The notes of the horn sounded out clear and sharp across the valley. The dogs turned and began to circle, as if scenting, though their quarry was in easy sight.

  Then the Hounds of Kerenos began to lope away. Corum laughed in delight. For the first time he had won a victory over the hellish dogs.

  At his laughter, it seemed, the man on the far side of the valley looked up. Corum waved to him, but the man did not return the wave.

  As soon as the Hounds of Kerenos had disappeared, Corum began to run down the hillside towards the one whom he had helped. It did not take him long to reach the bottom of the slope and begin to ascend the next. He recognized the waterfall and the shelf of rock where the man had turned to do battle with the hounds, but the man himself was nowhere to be seen. He had not climbed higher, that was certain, nor had he come down, Corum was sure, for he had a fairly clear view of the waterfall as he ran.

  "Ho there!'‘ shouted the Prince in the Scarlet Robe, brandishing his horn. "Where are you hiding, comrade?"

  He was answered only by the rattling of water upon rocks as the waterfall continued its progress down the cliff face. He stared about him, peering at every shadow, every rock and bush, but it was as if the man had actually become invisible.

  "Where are you, stranger?"

  There was a faint echo, but this was drowned quickly by the sound of the water hissing and slapping as it foamed over the crags.

  Corum shrugged and turned away, thinking it ironic that the men should be more timid than the beasts on the island.

  And then suddenly, from nowhere, he felt a heavy blow in the small of his back and he was tumbling forward onto the heather, arms outstretched to break his fall.

  "Stranger, eh?" said a deep surly voice. "Call me stranger, eh?"

  Corum struck the ground and rolled over, trying to free his sword from its scabbard. The man who had pushed him was massive. He must have stood eight feet high and was a good four feet broad at the shoulder. He wore a polished iron breastplate, polished iron greaves inlaid with red gold, and an iron helm upon his shaggy, black-bearded head. In his monstrous hands was the largest war-axe Corum had ever seen.

  Corum scrambled up, drawing his blade. He suspected that this was the one whom he had saved. But the huge creature appeared to feel no gratitude at all.

  Corum managed to gasp: "Who do I fight?"

  "You fight me. You fight the Dwarf Goffanon," said the giant.

  THE EIGHTH CHAPTER

  THE SPEAR BRYIONAK

  In spite of his danger, Corum found himself grinning in disbelief. "Dwarf?"

  The Sidhi smith glared at him.

  "Aye? What is funny?"

  ' 'I should be afraid to meet ordinary-sized men on this island!''

  ‘ 'I miss your point.' ‘ Goffanon's eyes narrowed as he readied his axe and took up a fighting stance. It was only then that Corum realized that the eyes were similar to his own remaining single orb— almond-shaped, yellow and purple—and that the so-called dwarf's skull structure was more delicate than it had at first appeared due to the beard covering so much of it. His face was, in most particulars, a Vadhagh face. Yet in all other respects Goffanon did not resemble a member of Corum's own race.

  ' ‘ Are there others of your kind in Hy-Breasail?" Corum used the pure tongue of the Vadhagh, not the dialect spoken by most Mab-den, and produced an expression of gaping-mouthed astonishment on Goffanon's features.

  "I am the only one," the smith replied in the same tongue. “ Or thought so. Yet if you be of my folk, why did you set your dogs upon me?"

  "They are not my dogs. I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei, of the Vadhagh race." With his left, his silver, hand, Corum held up the horn. "This is what controls the dogs. This horn. They think their master sounds it."

  Goffanon lowered his axe a fraction. "So you are not some servant of the Fhoi Myore?"

  "I hope that I am not. I battle the Fhoi Myore and all that they stand for. Those dogs have attacked me more than once. It was to save me from further attacks that I was loaned the horn by a Mabden wizard.'' Corum decided that this was a judicious time to sheath his sword and hoped that the Sidhi smith did not take the opportunity to split his skull.

  Goffanon frowned, sucking at his lips as he debated Corum's words.

  "How long have the Hounds of Kerenos been on your island?" Corum asked.

  "This time? A day—no more. But they have been before. They seem the only things unaffected by the madness which comes upon the rest of the denizens of this world when they set foot upon my shores. And since the Fhoi Myore have had an abiding hatred for Hy-Breasail, they do not rest in sending their minions to hunt me. Often I am able to anticipate their coming and take precautions, but this time I had grown too confident, not expecting them back so soon. I thought you to be some new creature, some huntsman like the Ghoolegh, of whom I have heard, who serve Kerenos. But it seems to me now that I once listened to a tale concerning a Vadhagh with a strange hand and only one eye—but that Vadhagh died, even before the Sidhi came."

  "You do not call yourself Vadhagh?"

  "Sidhi, we are called." Now Goffanon had lowered his axe completely. "We are related to your folk. Some of your people visited us once, I know—and we visited you. But that was when access to the Fifteen Planes was possible, before the last Conjunction of the Million Spheres."

  "You are from another plane. Then how did you reach this one?"

  "A disruption in the walls between the realms. Thus came the Fhoi Myore, from the Cold Places, from Limbo. And thus we came—to help the folk of Lwym-an-Esh and their Vadha
gh friends—and fought the Fhoi Myore. There was great slaying in those days, long ago, and huge wars, which sank Lwym-an-Esh, killing all the Vadhagh and most of the Mabden. Also my folk, the Sidhi, were slain, for we could not return to our own plane, since the rupture swiftly mended. We thought all the Fhoi Myore destroyed, but lately they have returned."

  "And you do not fight them?"

  "I am not strong enough, alone. This island is physically part of my own plane. Here I can live in peace, save for the dogs. I am old. I shall die in a few hundred years."

  "I am weak," Corum said. "Yet I fight the Fhoi Myore."

  Goffanon nodded. Then he shrugged. "Only because you have not fought them before," he said.

  ' 'Yet why can they not come to Hy-Breasail? Why do no Mabden return from the island?"

  "I try to keep the Mabden away," said Goffanon, "but they are an intrepid little race. Their very courage brings about their dreadful deaths. But I will tell you more when we have eaten. Will you guest with me, cousin?"