Chronicles of Corum (36 page)

Now the great Hall of Caer Mahlod was filled. A stranger entering would not have guessed that the folk here prepared themselves for a final desperate war against an almost invincible foe; indeed the gathering seemed to have the spirit of a celebration. Four long oaken tables formed a hollow square in the center of which sat, not altogether comfortably, a golden-haired giant, Ilbrec, with his own beaker, plate and spoon set out before him. At the tables, facing inward, sat all the nobles of the Mabden, with the High King, slender, ascetic Amergin, in the place of greatest prominence, wearing his robe of silver thread and his crown of oak and holly leaves; Corum, with his embroidered eye-patch and his silver hand, was seated directly opposite the High King. On both sides of Amergin sat kings and beside the kings sat queens and princes and beside the princes sat princesses and great knights with their ladies. Corum had Medhbh on his right and Goffanon on his left, and beside Medhbh sat Jhary-a-Conel and beside Goffanon sat Hisak Sunthief the smith who had helped forge the unnamed blade. Rich silks and furs, garments of doeskin and plaid, ornaments of red gold and white silver, of polished iron and burnished bronze, of emerald and ruby and sapphire, brought blazing color to a hall lit by brightly burning brands of reeds soaked in oil. The air was full of smoke and the smell of food as whole beasts were roasted in the kitchens and brought quartered to the tables. Musicians, with harps and pipes and drums, sat in one corner playing sweet melodies which managed to blend with the voices of the company; the voices were cheerful and the conversation and the laughter were easy. The food was consumed lustily by all save Corum, who was in reasonable spirits but for some reason lacked an appetite. Exchanging a few words occasionally with Goffanon or Jhary-a-Conel, sipping from a golden drinking horn, he glanced around him at the gathering, recognizing all the great heroes and heroines of the Mabden folk who were there. Apart from the five kings, King Mannach, King Fiachadh, King Daffyn, King Khonun of the Tuha-na-Anu and King Ghachbes of the Tuha-na-Tir-nam-Beo, there were many who had known glory and were already celebrated in the ballads of their people. Amongst these were Fionha and Cahleen, two daughters of the great dead knight Milgan the White, blonde-haired, creamy-skinned, almost twins, dressed in costumes of identical cut and color save that one was predominantly red, trimmed with blue and the other blue, trimmed with red, warrior maidens both, with honey-colored eyes and their hair all wild and unbound, flirting with a pair of knights a-piece; and nearby was the one called the Branch Hero, Phadrac-at-the-Crag-at-Lyth, almost as huge and as broad-shouldered as Goffanon, with green, glaring eyes and a red laughing mouth, whose weapon was a whole tree with which he would sweep his enemies from their horses and stun them. The Branch Hero laughed rarely, for he mourned his friend Ayan the Hairy-handed, whom he had killed during a mock fight when drunk. And at the next table was Young Fean, eating and drinking and flirting as heartily as any man, the darling of the nobles' daughters, who giggled at every word he said and stroked his red hair and fed him tidbits of meat and fruit. Near him sat all of the Five Knights of Eralskee, brothers who, until recent times, had refused to have aught to do with the folk of the Tuha-na-Anu for they had harbored a blood grudge against their uncle, King Khonun, whom they believed to be their father's murderer. For years they had remained in their mountains, venturing out to raid King Khonun's lands or to try to raise an army against him. Now they were sworn to forget their grudge until the matter of the Fhoi Myore was done. They were all similar in appearance, save that the youngest had black hair and an expression not quite as grim as that of his brothers, all sporting the high-peaked conical helmets bearing the Owl Crest of Eralskee, all big and very hard men who smiled as if the action were new to them. Then there was Morkyan of the Two Smiles, a scar on his face turning the lip on the left side upward and the lip on the right side downward; but this was not why he was called Morkyan of the Two Smiles. It was said that only Morkyan's enemies saw those two smiles—the first smile meant that he intended to kill them and the second smile meant that they were dead. Morkyan was splendid in dark blue leather and a matching leathern cap, his black beard trimmed to a point and his moustaches curling upward. He wore his hair short and hidden entirely by the tight-fitting cap. Leaning across two friends and speaking to Morkyan was Kernyn the Ragged who looked like a beggar and had impoverished himself through his strange habit of giving generous amounts of money to the kin of men he had slain. A demon in battle, Kernyn was always remorseful after he had killed an enemy and would make a point of finding the man's widow or family and bestowing a gift upon them. Kernyn's brown hair was matted and his beard was untidy. He wore a patched leather jerkin and a helmet of plain iron, and his long, mournful face was presently lit up as he regaled Morkyan with some reminiscence of a battle in which they had fought on different sides. Grynion Ox-rider was there, too, his arm around the ample waist of Sheonan the Axe-maiden, another woman of outstanding martial abilities. Grynion had earned his nickname for riding a wild ox into the thick of a fight when he had lost his horse and weapons and was wounded almost mortally. Helping himself from a huge side of beef, which he attacked with a large, sharp knife, was Ossan the Bridlemaker, renowned for his leather-working skill. His jerkin and his cap were made of embossed, finely-tooled hide, covered in a variety of flowing designs. He was a man nearing old age but his movements were those of a youth. He grinned as he forced meat into his mouth, the grease running into his ginger beard, and turned to listen to the knight who told a joke to those within hearing of him. And there were many more: Fene the Legless, Uther of the Melancholy Dale, Pwyll Spinebreaker, Shamane the Tall and Shamane the Short, The Red Fox Meyahn, Old Dylann, Ronan the Pale and Clar from Beyond the West among them. Corum had met them all as they had come to Caer Mahlod and he knew that many of them would die when they battled, at last, with the Fhoi Myore.

Now Amergin's clear, strong voice rang out, calling to Corum:

"Well, Corum of the Silver Hand, are you satisfied with the company you lead to war?"

Corum answered gracefully. "My only doubt is that there are many here better able to lead such great warriors than I. It is my honor that I am elected to this task."

"Well-spoken!" King Fiachadh lifted his mead-horn. "I toast Corum, the slayer of Sreng of the Seven Swords, the savior of our High King. I toast Corum, who brought back the Mabden pride!"

And Corum blushed as they cheered and drank his health and when they had finished he stood up and raised his own horn and he spoke these words:

"I toast that pride! I toast the Mabden folk!"

And again the company roared its approval and all drank.

Then Amergin said:

"We are fortunate in having Sidhi allies who have chosen to aid us in our struggle against the Fhoi Myore. We are fortunate in that many of our great Treasures were restored to us and used to defeat the Fhoi Myore when they sought to destroy us. I toast the Sidhi and the gifts of the Sidhi."

And again the whole company, save an embarrassed Ilbrec and a bemused Goffanon, drank and cheered.

Ilbrec was the next to speak. He said:

"If the Mabden were not courageous; if they were not a fine-spirited folk, the Sidhi would not help them. We fight for that which is noble in all living beings."

Goffanon grunted his agreement with this sentiment. "By and large," he said, "the Mabden are not a selfish folk. They are not mean. They respect one another. They are not greedy. They are not, in the main, self-righteous. Aye, I’ve a liking for this people. I am glad that finally I chose to fight in their cause. It will be good to die in such a cause."

Amergin smiled. "I hope you do not expect death, Sir Goffanon. You speak of it as if it were an inevitable consequence of this venture."

And Goffanon lowered his eyes, shrugging.

King Mannach put in quickly: "We shall defeat the Fhoi Myore. We must. But I'll admit we could make use of any further advantages that Fate cares to send us." He looked meaningly at Corum who nodded.

"Magic is the best weapon against magic," he agreed, "if that is what you meant, King Mannach."

"It is what I meant," said Medhbh's father.

"Magic!" Goffanon laughed. "There's little of that left now, save the kind the Fhoi Myore and their friends can summon."

"Yet I heard of something
..."
Corum hardly realized he was speaking. He paused, reconsidering his impulse.

"Heard what?" said Amergin, leaning forward.

Corum looked at Ilbrec. "You spoke of a magical place, Ilbrec. Earlier today. You said you might know of somewhere where magical allies might be found."

Ilbrec glanced at Goffanon, who frowned. "I said I might know of such a place. It was a dim memory
..."

"It is too dangerous," said Goffanon. "As I told you before, Ilbrec, I wonder at you suggesting it. We are best engaged in using to fullest advantage the resources we have now."

"Very well," said Hbrec. "You were ever cautious, Goffanon."

"In this case rightly," grunted the Sidhi dwarf.

But now there was a silence in the hall as everyone listened to the exchange between the two Sidhi. Ilbrec looked about him, addressing all. "I made a mistake," he said. "Magic and such stuff has a habit of recoiling on those who use it."

"True," said Amergin. "We will respect your reserve, Sir Ilbrec."

^‘
‘
It is as well,'' said Ilbrec, but it was plain he did not really share Goffanon's caution. Caution was not part of the Sidhi youth's character, just as it had not been part of the great Manannan's nature.

^‘‘
Your folk fought the Fhoi Myore in nine great fights," said King Fiachadh, wiping his mouth clean of the sticky mead which clung to it.
^‘
‘
You know them best, therefore. And therefore we respect any advice you give us."

^‘‘
And do you give us advice, Sir Sidhi?" Amergin asked.

Goffanon looked up from where he had been staring broodingly into his drinking beaker. His eyes were hard and sharp; they burned with a fire none had previously seen there.
^‘
'Only that you should fear heroes," he said.

And no one asked him what he meant, for all were profoundly disturbed and perplexed by his remark.

At length King Mannach spoke. "It is agreed that we march directly for Caer Llud and make our first attack there. There are disadvantages to this plan—we go into the coldest of the Fhoi Myore territories—yet we have the chance of surprising them."

"Then we retreat again," said Corum.
^‘
'Making the best speed we can for Craig Don, where we shall have left extra weapons, riding beasts, and food. From Craig Don we can make forays against the Fhoi Myore knowing that they will be unwilling to follow us through the seven circles. Our only danger will be if the Fhoi Myore are strong enough to hold Craig Don in siege until our food is gone."

"And that is why we must strike hard and strike swiftly at Caer Llud, taking as many of them as we can and conserving our own strength," said Morkyan of the Two Smiles, fingering his pointed beard. ''There must be no displays of courage—no glory-deeds at Caer Llud."

His words were not particularly well-received by many in the company. "War-making is an art," said Kernyn the Ragged, his long face seeming to grow still longer, "though a terrible and immoral art. And most of us gathered here are artists, priding ourselves upon our skills—aye, and our style, too. If we cannot express ourselves in our individual ways, then is there any point to fighting at all?"

"Mabden fights are one thing," said Corum quietly, "but a war of Mabden against Fhoi Myore is another. There is more to lose than pride in the battles we contemplate tonight."

‘ T understand you,'' said Kernyn the Ragged, "but I am not sure I entirely agree with you, Sir Sidhi."

"We could give up too much in order to save our lives," said Sheonan the Axe-maiden, disengaging herself from Grynion’s embrace.

"You spoke of what you admired in the Mabden." The Branch Hero, Phadrac, addressed Goffanon. "Yet there is a danger that we should sacrifice all the virtues of our folk merely in order to continue to exist."

"You must sacrifice nothing of that," Goffanon told him. "We merely counsel prudence during the assault on Caer Llud. One of the reasons that the Mabden lost so badly to the Fhoi Myore was because the Mabden warriors fight as individuals whereas the Fhoi Myore organize their forces as a single unit. At Caer Llud, if nowhere else, we must emulate these methods, using cavalry for fast-striking, using chariots as moving platforms from which to cast missiles. It would be pointless to stand and fight against Rhannon's horrible breath, would it not?"