The Chronicles of Corum (7 page)

At last his wounds had healed completely and he felt well enough to set off on a journey. On that morning, he addressed Serwde.

"Farewell, Brown Man of Laahr. I thank you for saving me. And I thank your master. Now I go."

Corum saluted Serwde and began to walk up the valley, heading toward the east. Serwde came shambling after him. "Corum! Coruml You go wrong way."

"I go back to where I shall find my enemies," Corum said. "That is not the wrong way."

"My master say, me take you that way . . ." Serwde pointed toward the west.

"There is only sea that way, Serwde. It is the far tip of Bro-an-Vadhagh."

"My master say that way," insisted Serwde.

"I am grateful for your concern, Serwde. But I go this way—to find the Mabden and take my revenge."

"You go that way." Serwde pointed again and put his paw on Corum's arm. "That way."

Corum shook the paw off. "No. This way." He continued to walk up the valley toward the west.

Then, suddenly, something struck him on the back of the head. He reeled and turned to see what had struck him. Serwde stood there, holding another stone ready.

Corum cursed and was about to berate Serwde when his senses left him once again and he fell full length on the grass.

He was awakened by the sound of the sea.

At first he could not decide what was happening to him and then he realized that he was being carried, face down, over Serwde's shoulder. He struggled, but the Brown Man of Laahr was much stronger than he appeared to be. He held Corum firmly.

Corum looked to one side. There was the sea, green and foaming against the shingle. He looked to the other side, his blind side, and managed to strain his head round to see what lay there.

It was the sea again. He was being carried along a narrow piece of land that rose out of the water. Eventually, though his head was bumping up and down as Serwde jogged along, he saw that they had left the mainland and were moving along some kind of natural causeway that stretched out into the ocean.

Seabirds called. Corum shouted and struggled, but Serwde remained deaf to his curses and entreaties, until the Brown Man stopped at last and dumped him to the ground.

Corum got up.

"Serwde, I ..."

He paused, looking about him.

They had come to the end of the causeway and were on an island that rose steeply from the sea. At the peak of the island was a castle of a kind of architecture Corum had never seen before.

Was this the Mabden place Serwde had spoken of?

But Serwde was already trotting back down the causeway. Corum called to him. The Brown Man only increased his pace. Corum began to follow, but he could not match the creature's speed. Serwde had reached the land long before Corum had crossed halfway—and now his path was blocked, for the tide was rising to cover the causeway.

Corum paused in indecision, looking back at the castle. Serwde's misguided help had placed him, once again, in danger.

Now he saw mounted figures coming down the steep path from the castle. They were warriors. He saw the sun flash on their lances and on their breastplates. Unlike other Mabden, these did know how to ride horses, and there was something in their bearing that made them look more like Vadhagh than Mabden.

But, nonetheless, they were enemies and Conun's choice was to face them naked or try to swim back to the mainland with only one hand.

He made up his mind and waded into the brine, the cold water making him gasp, heedless of the shouts of the riders behind him.

He managed to swim a little way until he was in deeper water, and then the current seized him. He fought to swim free of it, but it was useless.

Rapidly, he was borne out to sea.

The Eighth Chapter
 The Margravine Of Allomglyl

Corum had lost much blood during the Mabden torturings and had by no means recovered his original strength. It was not long before he could fight the current no more and the cramps began to set in his limbs.

He began to drown.

Destiny seemed determined that he should not live to take his vengeance on Glandyth-a-Krae.

Water filled his mouth and he fought to keep it from entering his lungs as he twisted and thrashed in the water. Then he heard a shout from above and tried to peer upward through his good eye to locate the source of the voice.

"Stay still, Vadhagh. You'll frighten my beasts. They're nervous monsters at the best of times."

Now Corum saw a dark shape hovering over him. It had great wings that spread four times the length of the largest eagle's. But it was not a bird and, though its wings had a reptilian appearance, it was not a reptile. Corum recognized it for what it was. The ugly, apelike face with its white, thin fangs was the face of a gigantic bat. And the bat had a rider on it.

The rider was a lithe, young Mabden who appeared to have little in common with the Mabden warriors of Glandyth-a-Krae. He was actually climbing down the side of the creature and making it flap lower so that he could extend a hand to Corum.

Corum automatically stretched out his nearest arm and realized that it was the one without a hand. The Mabden was unconcerned. He grabbed the limb near the elbow and hauled Corum up so that Corum could use his single hand to grasp a tethering strap which secured a high saddle on the back of the great bat.

Unceremoniously, Corum's dripping body was hauled up and draped in front of the rider, who called something in a shrill voice and made the bat climb high above the waves and turn back in the direction of the island castle.

The beast was evidently hard to control, for the rider constantly corrected course and continued to speak to it in the high-pitched language to which it responded. But at length they had reached the island and were hovering over the castle.

Corum could hardly believe that this was Mabden architecture. There were turrets and parapets of delicate workmanship, roof walks and balconies covered in ivy and flowers, all fashioned from a fine, white stone that shone in the sunshine.

The bat landed clumsily and the rider got off quickly, pulling Corum with him. Almost instantly, the bat was up again, wheeling in the sky and then diving toward a destination on the other side of the island.

"They sleep in caves," the rider exclaimed. "We use them as little as possible. They're hard things to control, as you saw."

Corum said nothing.

For all that the Mabden had saved his life and seemed both cheerful and courteous, Corum had learned, as an animal learns, that the Mabden were his enemies. He glowered at the Mabden.

"What have you saved me for, Mabden?"

The man looked surprised. He dusted down his tunic of scarlet velvet and adjusted his swordbelt on his hips. "You were drowning," he said. "Why did you run away from our men when they came to greet you?"

"How did you know I was coming?"

"We were told by our Margravine to expect you."

"And who told your Margravine?"

"I know not. You are somewhat ungracious, sir. I thought the Vadhagh a courteous folk."

"And I thought the Mabden vicious and mad," Corum replied. "But you . . ."

"Ah, you speak of the folk of the South and the East, eh? You have met them then?"

With his stump, Corum tapped his ruined eye. "They did this."

The young man nodded his head sympathetically. "I suppose I would have guessed. Mutilation is one of their favorite sports. I am surprised you escaped."

"I, too."

"Well, sir," said the youth, spreading his hand in an elaborate gesture toward a doorway in a tower, "would you go in?"

Corum hesitated.

"We are not your Mabden of the East, sir, I assure you."

"Possibly," Corum said harshly, "but Mabden you are. There are so many of you. And now, I find, there are even varieties. I suspect you share common traits, however . . ."

The young man showed signs of impatience. "As you like, Sir Vadhagh. I, for one, will go in. I trust you will follow me at your leisure."

Coruni watched him enter the doorway and disappear. He remained on the roof, watching the sea birds drift, dive, and climb. With his good hand, he stroked the stump of his left hand and shivered. A strong wind was beginning to blow and it was cold and he was naked. He glanced toward the doorway.

A woman stood there. She seemed quiet and self-contained and had a gentleness about her. Her long black hair was soft and fell below her shoulders. She was wearing a gown of embroidered samite containing a multitude of rich colors. She smiled at him.

"Greetings," she said. "I am Rhalina. Who are you, sir?"

"I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei," he replied. Her beauty was not that of a Vadhagh, but it affected him nonetheless. "The Prince in the—"

"—Scarlet Robe?" She was plainly amused. "I speak the old Vadhagh tongue as well as the common speech. You are misnamed, Prince Corum. I see no robe. In fact, I see no ..."

Corum turned away. "Do not mock me, Mabden. I am resolved to suffer no further at the hands of your kind."

She moved nearer. "Forgive me. Those who did this to you are not our kind, though they be of the same race. Have you never heard of Lywm-an-Esh?"

His brow furrowed. The name of the land was familiar, but meant nothing.

"Lywm-an-Esh," she continued, "is the name of the country whence my people come. That people is an ancient one and has lived in Lywm-an-Esh since well before the Great Battles of the Vadhagh and the Khadragh shook the Five Planes . . ."

"You know of the Five Planes?"

"We once had seers who could look into them. Though their skills never matched those of the Old Folk—your folk."

"How do you know so much of the Vadhagh?”

"Though the sense of curiosity atrophied in the Vadhagh many centuries ago, ours did not," she said. "From time to time Nhadragh ships were wrecked on our shores and, though the Nhadragh themselves vanished away, books and tapestries and other artifacts were left behind. We learned to read those books and interpret those tapestries. In those days, we had many scholars.”

"And now?"

"Now, I do not know. We receive little news from the mainland."

"What? And it so close?"

"Not that mainland, Prince Corum," said she with a nod in the direction of the shore. She pointed out to sea. "That mainland—Lywm-an-Esh—or, more specifically, the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, on whose borders this Margravate once lay."

Prince Corum watched the sea as it foamed on the rocks at the base of the island. "What ignorance was ours," he mused, "when we thought we had so much wisdom."

"Why should such a race as the Vadhagh be interested in the affairs of a Mabden land?" she said. "Our history was brief and without color compared with yours."

"But why a Margrave here?" he continued. "What do you defend your land against?"

"Other Mabden, Prince Corum."

"Glandyth and his kind?"

"I know of no Glandyth. I speak of the Pony Tribes. They occupy the forests of yonder coast. Barbarians, they have ever represented a threat to Lywm-an-Esh. The Margravate was made as a bastion between those tribes and our land."

"Is the sea not a sufficient bastion?"

"The sea was not here when the Margravate was established. Once this castle stood in a forest and the sea lay miles away to the north and the south. But then the sea began to eat our land away. Every year it devours more of our cliffs. Towns, villages, and castles have vanished in the space of weeks. The people of the mainland retreat ever further back into the interior.”

"And you are left behind? Has not this castle ceased to fulfill its function? Why do you not leave and join your folk?"

She smiled and shrugged, walking to the battlements and leaning out to watch the seabirds gather on the rocks. "This is my home," she said. "This is where my memories are. The Margrave left so many mementos. I could not leave."

"The Margrave?"

"Earl Moidel of Allomglyl. My husband."

"Ah." Corum felt a strange twinge of disappointment.

The Margravine Rhalina continued to stare out to sea. "He is dead," she said. "Killed in a shipwreck. He took our last ship and set off for the mainland seeking news of the fate of our folk. A storm blew up shortly after he had gone. The ship was barely seaworthy. It sank."

Corum said nothing.

As if the Margravine's words had reminded it of its temper, the wind suddenly blew stronger, pluckiag at her gown and making it swirl about her body. She turned to look at him. It was a long, thoughtful stare.

"And now, Prince," she said. "Will you be my guest?"

"Tell me one more thing, Lady Rhalina. How did you know of my coming? Why did the Brown Man bring me here?"

"He brought you at the behest of his master."

"And his master?"

"Told me to expect you and let you rest here until your mind and your body were healed. I was more than willing to agree. We have no visitors, normally—and certainly none of the Vadhagh race."

"But who is that strange being, the Brown Man's master? I saw him only briefly. I could not distinguish his shape too well, though I knew he was twice my size and had a face of infinite sadness."

"That is he. He comes to the castle at night, bringing sick domestic animals that have escaped our stables at some time or another. We think he is a being from another plane, or perhaps another Age, before even the Age of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh. We cannot pronounce his name, so we call him simply the Giant of Laahr."

Corum smiled for the first time. "Now I understand better. To him, perhaps, I was another sick beast. This is where he always brings sick beasts."

"You could be right, Prince Corum." She indicated the doorway. "And if you are sick, we should be happy to help you mend . . ."

A shadow passed over Corum's face as he followed her inside. "I fear that nothing can mend my sickness now, Lady. It is a disease of the Mabden and there are no cures known to the Vadhagh."

"Well," she said with forced lightness, "perhaps we Mabden can devise something."

Bitterness filled him then. As they descended the steps into the main part of the castle he held up his stump and touched his eyeless socket "But can the Mabden give me back my hand and my eye?"