Chronicles of Corum (44 page)

And Calatin smiled and hid his lips with his bejewelled hand.

"Are your Fhoi Myore masters all dead, then
..."
Corum said aggressively, but without much conviction.

"The Fhoi Myore are not my masters, Corum," replied Calatin chidingly, softly. "They are my sometime allies. We work to our mutual advantage.''

"You speak as if they are still alive."

"Still alive, aye. They are alive, Corum." Calatin voiced these words in the same controlled tone, his blue eyes full of humor and malice. "And triumphant. And victorious. They hold Caer Llud and now pursue what remains of the Mabden army. Soon all the Mabden will be dead, I fear."

"So we did not win at Caer Llud?"

"Did you expect that you could? Shall I tell you some of those who died there?"

Corum shook his head, turning away, but then he groaned. "Very well, wizard, who died?"

"King Mannach died there, his own battle-standard driven through his body. You knew King Mannach, I believe."

"I knew him. I honor him now."

"And King Fiachadh? Another friend?"

"What of King Fiachadh?"

"He was a prisoner for a few hours, I understand, of my lady Goim."

"Of Goim?" Corum shuddered. He recalled the stories he had heard of the female Fhoi Myore's horrible tastes. "And his son, Young Fean?"

"He shared his father's fate, I believe."

"What others?" whispered Corum.

"Oh, there were many. Many of the Mabden's heroes."

Goffanon said in distant, unnatural tones:

"Ayan the Hairy-handed's friend, the Branch Hero, was torn to pieces by the Hounds of Kerenos, as were Fionha and Cahleen, the warrior-maidens . . .

"And of the Five Knights of Eralskee only the youngest remains alive, if the cold has not taken him by now. He fled on a horse, pursued by Prince Gaynor and the People of the Pines," continued Calatin with relish. "And King Daffyn lost his legs and froze to death not a mile from Caer Llud—he had crawled that mile. We saw his body on our way here. And King Khonun of the Tuha-na-Anu we found hanging from a tree not ten yards from him, discovered by the Ghoolegh we think. And do you know of one called Kernyn the Ragged, a man of singular dress and unsanitary habits?"

"I know Kernyn the Ragged," said Corum.

"With a group of those he led, Kernyn was found by my lord Balahr's eye and froze to death before he could strike a single blow."

"Who else?"

''King Ghachbes was slain, and Grynion Ox-rider, and Clar from Beyond the West, and the Red Fox, Meyahn, and the two Shamanes, both the Tall and the Short, and Uther of the Melancholy Dale. Also were slain in great numbers warriors of all the Mabden tribes. And Pwyll Spinebreaker was wounded, probably mortally. The same is true of Old Dylann and Sheonan Axe-maiden and perhaps Morkyan of the Two Smiles
..."

"Stop," said Corum. "Are none of the Mabden left alive?"

"By now I would think it unlikely, though we have traveled for some time. They had little food and were heading for Craig Don, where they could be sure of temporary sanctuary, but they will starve there. They will die at their holy place. Perhaps it is all they want. They know their time upon the earth is over."

"But you are a Mabden," said Ilbrec. "You speak of the race as if it were not your own."

"I am Calatin," said the wizard, as if addressing a child, "and
I
have no race. Once I had a family, that was all. And the family has gone, too."

"Sent to its deaths on your behalf, as I recall," Corum said savagely.

"They were dutiful sons, if that is what you mean." Calatin laughed lightly. "But I have no natural heirs, it is true."

"And having none of your own, you would see the whole race die?"

"Perhaps that is my motive for doing what I do," agreed Calatin equably. "There again, an immortal has no need of heirs, has he?"

"You are immortal?" "I hope so."

"By what means did you achieve this?" Corum asked him.

"By the means you know. By choosing my allies properly and using my skills wisely."

"And is that why you visit Ynys Scaith, in the hope of finding more allies, even more despicable than the Fhoi Myore?" said Ilbrec, putting his hand upon the hilt of his sword. "Well,
I
should warn you that the Malibann have no need of the likes of you and that they will deal with you as they have dealt with us. We have had no luck in convincing them to come to our aid."

"That does not surprise me." Calatin's tone was still equable.

"They will destroy you when they destroy us," said Corum with a certain grim satisfaction.

"I think not."

"Why so?" Ilbrec glowered at the wizard who held his old friend Goffanon in thrall. "Why so, Calatin?"

"Because this is by no means my first visit to Ynys Scaith." He gestured toward the cowled figure on his right."You said I have no heirs, but it was on Ynys Scaith, with the help of the Malibann, that my son was born. I like to think of him as my son. And it was on Ynys Scaith that I learned many new powers."

"Then it is you!" said Ilbrec. "You are the ally of the Malibann—the one they mentioned." "I think I must be."

Calatin's smirk was so self-satisfied that Corum drew his sword and ran toward him, but then the flat of Goffanon's axe slammed against his armored chest and he was knocked down onto the filthy beach, while Calatin shook his head in mock despair and said:

"Direct your anger at yourself, Prince Corum of the Silver Hand. You have received poor counsel and followed it. Perhaps if you had been at Caer Llud to lead the Mabden the battle would not have gone so ill . . ."

Corum began to rise, reaching for his sword, which lay a few feet from him, but again black-bearded Goffanon used his axe to push the sword away.

"Prince Corum," said Calatin, "you must know that the surviving Mabden blame you for their defeat. They call you turncoat. They believe that you joined sides with the Fhoi Myore and fought against them."

"How could they believe that? Now I know you for a liar, Calatin. I was here all the time. What evidence have they?" Calatin chuckled. "They have good evidence, Prince Corum." "Then some glamor was put upon them. One of your illusions!'' "Oh, you do me too much honor, Prince Corum." "Jhary-a-Conel—was he not there?"

"Little Jhary-a-Conel joined with me for a while, when he realized how the battle went, then he vanished—doubtless shamed at his decision, though I considered it sensible."

Then Corum began to weep, feeling even more distressed by the knowledge that his enemy Calatin was witness to this grief.

And as Corum wept a voice came from somewhere. It was Sactric's dry, dead voice and it held a note of impatience.

"Calatin. Escort your company to the Great Palace. We are anxious to see what you have brought us and if you have kept your bargain."

The Great Palace was no longer a palace but a place where a palace had once been. The huge pine tree which stood on the very top of Ynys Scaith's only hill had once grown at the center of the palace, but now there were only traces of the original foundations. The mortals and the Sidhi sat upon grass-covered blocks of masonry while Sactric's mummified figure stood at the spot, where, he said, their great throne had once rested; this throne, he had told them, had been carved from a single gigantic ruby, but none believed him.

"You will see, Emperor Sactric," began Calatin, "that I have fulfilled the last part of our bargain. I have brought you Goffanon.''

Sactric inspected the expressionless face of the Sidhi dwarf. "The creature resembles that one whom I desired to meet again," he admitted. "And he is completely in your power?"

"Completely." Calatin brandished the little leather bag which Corum remembered from when he, himself, had bargained with the wizard. It was the bag into which Goffanon had spat. It was the bag which Corum had given to Calatin and whose contents Calatin had used to secure his power over the great dwarf. Corum looked at that bag and was filled with hatred for Calatin even more intense than he had felt before, but his hatred for himself was even stronger. With a groan he buried his face in his hands. Ilbrec cleared his throat and muttered something, an attempt at comfort, but Corum could not hear the words.

^‘
'Then give me the bag which contains your power.'' The decaying hand reached toward Calatin, but Calatin replaced the little bag in his robe and smiled. "The power must be transferred willingly, as you know, or it will cease to be. I must first be sure, Sactric, that you will complete that part of the bargain which is yours."

Sactric said bleakly:’
^’
We give our word rarely, we of Malibann. When we give it, we are bound to keep it. You requested our help first in destroying what remains of the Mabden race and then in imprisoning the Fhoi Myore in an illusion from which they will be unable to escape, leaving you free to use this world as you feel fit. You have agreed to bring us Goffanon and to help us leave this plane forever. Well, you have brought Goffanon and that is good. We must trust that you have the power to help us depart this world and find another, pleasanter place in which to live. Of course, if you do not succeed in that, we shall punish you. You know this, also."

"I know it, Emperor."

"Then give me the bag. "

Calatin showed considerable reluctance to comply as he once more drew out the leather bag, but at last he handed it to Sactric, who accepted it with a hiss of pleasure.

"Now Goffanon, listen to your master Calatin!" Calatin began, while the dwarf's friends looked on in misery. "You have a new master, now. It is this great man, this emperor, this Sactric." Calatin stepped forward and took Goffanon's huge head in his jewelled fingers and turned it so that the eyes stared directly at Sactric. "Sactric is your master now and you will obey him as you have obeyed me."

Goffanon's words were slurred, the speech of an idiot, but they heard him say:

"Sactric is my master now. I will obey him as I have obeyed Calatin."

"Good!" Calatin stepped back with a look of considerable self-importance on his handsome face. "And now, Emperor Sactric, how do you intend to dispose of my two enemies here?" He indicated Corum and Ilbrec. "Would you allow me to devise a means . . . ?"

"I am not yet sure I wish to dispose of them," said Sactric. "Why slaughter good animals before they need to be eaten?"

Corum saw Ilbrec pale a little at Sactric's choice of phrase and he, himself, found the words distressing. Desperately, he tried to devise a method of capturing Sactric, at very least, but he knew that Sactric was able to enter and leave his mummified corpse at will and to invoke lethal illusions at a moment's whim. There was little either he or Ilbrec could do but pray that Calatin would not get his will.

Calatin shrugged. "Well, they must die at some time. Corum, in particular . . ."

"I will not discuss the question until I have tested Goffanon." Sactric returned his attention to the Sidhi smith."Goffanon. Do you remember me?"

"I remember you. You are Sactric. You are now my master," rumbled the dwarf, and Corum groaned to see his old friend brought so low.

"And do you remember that you were once here before, on this island you call Ynys Scaith?"

"I was on Ynys Scaith before." The dwarf closed his eyes and moaned to himself. "I remember. The horror of it . . ."

"But you left again. Somehow you overcame all the illusions we sent you and you went away
..."

"I escaped."

"But you took something with you. You used it to protect yourself until you could leave. What became of that which you took?"

"I hid it," said Goffanon. "I did not wish to look at it." "Where did you hide it, dwarf?"

'‘I hid it." Goffanon's face now had upon it an idiot grin. ''I hid it, Lord Sactric."

"That thing was mine, as you know. And it must be returned to me.
I
must have it again, ere we leave this plane. I shall not leave without it. Where did you hide it, Goffanon?"

"Master, I do not remember."

Sactric's voice now had anger in it and almost, Corum thought, desperation. "You must remember!" Sactric wheeled, pointing a finger from which dusty flesh dropped even as he spoke. ‘’Calatin! Have you lied to me?"