Chronicles of Corum (7 page)

Higher and higher up the hill raced the white hound, the first arrow bouncing apparently unnoticed in its side, and its howl seemed almost to be a howl of obscene laughter as it anticipated sinking its fangs into Corum’s throat. There was glee in the yellow eyes.

Corum could wait no longer. He released the arrow.

The shaft seemed to travel very slowly towards the white hound. The beast saw the arrow and tried to sidestep, but it had been running too fast, too purposefully. Its movements were not properly coordinated. As it ducked to save its right eye, its legs tangled and it received the arrow in its left eye with such an impact that the tip of the arrow burst through the other side of the skull.

The hound opened its great jaws as it collapsed, but no further sound escaped that frightful throat. It fell, rolled a short way down the hill, and was still.

Corum let out a sigh and turned to speak to King Mannach.

But King Mannach was already flinging back his arm, aiming a spear into the mist where at least a hundred pale shadows skulked and slavered and wailed their determination to be revenged upon the slayers of their sibling.

“Oh, there are many!”

King Mannach’s expression was troubled as he took up a second spear and flung that after the first. “More than any I have seen before.’’ He glanced round to see how his men fared. Now all were active against the hounds. They whirled slings, shot arrows and threw spears. The hounds surrounded Caer Mahlod. “There are many. Perhaps the Fhoi Myore have already heard that you have come to us, Prince Corum. Perhaps they have determined to destroy you.”

Corum made no reply, for he had seen a huge white hound slinking at the very foot of the wall, sniffing the entrance way which had been blocked with a large boulder. Leaning out over the battlements, Corum let fly with one of his last arrows, striking the beast in the back of its skull. It moaned and ran off into the mist. Corum could not see if he had killed it. They were hard to kill, these hounds, and hard to see in the mist and the frost, save for their blood-red ears, their yellow eyes.

Even had they been darker it would have been difficult to fight them. The mist grew thicker still. It attacked the throats and the eyes of the defenders so that they were constantly wiping the stuff from their faces, spitting over the walls at the hounds as they tried to free their lungs of the cold and clogging dampness. Yet they were brave. They did not falter. Spear after spear darted down. Arrow after arrow arced into the ranks of those sinister dogs. Only the piles of tathlum balls were not used, and Corum was curious to know why, for King Mannach had not had time to tell him. But spears and arrows and rocks were already running low and only a few of the pale dogs were dead.

Kerenos, whoever he might be, had well-stocked kennels, thought Corum as he shot the last of his arrows, dropped his bow and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

And their howling brought tension to every nerve so that one had to fight one’s own cringing muscles as well as the dogs themselves.

King Mannach ran along the battlements encouraging his warriors. So far none had fallen. Only when the missiles were exhausted would they be forced to defend themselves with their blades, axes and their pikes. That time was almost upon them.

Corum paused to draw a breath and try to take account of their situation. There were something less than a hundred hounds below. There were something more than a hundred men on the battlements. The hounds would have to make enormous leaps to get a foothold on the walls. That they were capable of making such leaps, Corum was in no doubt.

Even as he considered this he saw a white beast come flying towards him, its forelegs outstretched, its jaws snapping, its hot, yellow eyes glaring. If he had not already unsheathed his blade he would have been slain there and then. But now he brought the sword up, stabbing out at the hound even as it flew through the air towards him. He caught it in the belly and nearly lost his footing as the thing impaled itself upon the point of his sword, grunted as if in mild surprise, growled as it understood its fate, and made one feeble, futile snap at him before it went tumbling backwards to fall directly upon the spine of one of its fellows.

For a little while Corum thought that the Hounds of Kerenos had had enough of battle for that day, for they seemed to retreat. But their growrings, their mutterings, their occasional howlings, made it plain that they were simply resting, biding their time, preparing for the next attack. Perhaps they were taking instructions from an unseen master—perhaps Kerenos himself. Corum would have given much for a glimpse of the Fhoi Myore. He wanted to see at least one, if only to form his own opinion of what they were and from where they derived their powers. A little earlier he had seen a darker shape in the mist, a shape which was taller than the hounds and had seemed to walk on two legs, but the mist was shifting so rapidly all the time (though never dispersing) that he might have been deceived. If he had actually seen the outline of a Fhoi Myore, then there was no doubt that they were considerably taller than Man and probably not of the same race at all. Yet where could these others, who were not Vadhagh, Nhadragh or Mabden, have come from? This had puzzled Corum ever since his first conversation with King Mannach.

“The hounds! ‘Ware the hounds!” a warrior shouted as he was borne backward by a gleaming white shape which had flown silently at him from out of the mist. Hound and man went together off the walls and fell with a terrific crack into the street below.

Only the hound got up, its jaws full of the warrior’s flesh. It grinned, turned and loped into the street. Barely thinking, Corum flung his sword at it and struck it in the side. It shrieked and tried to snap at the sword protruding from between its ribs, just as a puppy might chase its own tail. Four or five rotations the great hound made before it understood that it was dead.

Corum bounded down the steps to the street to retrieve his sword. He had never seen such monstrous dogs before, neither could he understand their strange coloring, which was like nothing else in nature he had ever seen. With distaste he tugged his blade free from the massive carcass, wiping the blood on the pale, coarse fur. Then he ran back up the steps to take his place on the wall.

For the first time he noticed the stink. It was definitely a canine stink, like the smell of wet, dirty hair, but for a few seconds at a time it could be almost overpowering. With the mist attacking eyes and mouths and the stink of the hounds attacking their nostrils, the defenders were hard-pressed to accomplish their work. Dogs were on the walls now in several places and four warriors lay with their throats torn out, while two of the Hounds of Kerenos were also dead, one with its head hacked clean off.

Corum was beginning to tire and judged that the others must also be wearying. In an ordinary battle they would have had every right to be exhausted by now. Here, however, they did not fight men but beasts, and the allies of the beasts were the elements themselves.

Corum leaped to one side as a hound—one of the largest he had so far seen—cleared the battlements behind him and landed on the platform beyond, hissing and panting, its eyes rolling, its tongue lolling, its fangs dripping. The smell choked Comm. It issued from the mouth of the beast—a fetid, unhealthy smell. Growling softly, the hound gathered itself to attack Corum, the strange red ears lying flat against the tapering skull.

Corum shouted something, grabbed up his own long-hafted war-axe from where he had kept it by the wall, and whirling this weapon, ran at the hound.

The hound cringed perceptibly as the blade flashed over its white head. Its tail began to sink between its legs before it realized that it was considerably heavier and stronger than Corum and drew back its lips in a snarl exposing teeth some twelve inches long.

Bringing the war-axe round for a second swing, Corum was caught off balance and the hound charged before the axe could come back. Corum had to take three rapid paces away from the beast as it flung itself at him, to allow the axe to continue its swing and thud into the hound’s hind-leg, crippling it but not stopping it. Corum was close to the edge and knew that a leap might break his legs at very least. One more step backward would be enough to send him falling into the street. There was only one thing he could do. As the hound charged at him, he sidestepped and ducked, and the dog went sailing past him, smashing headfirst onto the cobbles and breaking its neck.

Now the noise of battle came from every part of the fortress, for several Hounds of Kerenos had gained access to the streets and were roaming them, sniffing for the old women and children who huddled behind the barricaded doors.

Medhbh, King Mannach’s daughter, had been in charge of the streets, and Corum glimpsed her running at the head of a handful of warriors, charging upon two of the hounds who had found themselves trapped in a street with no exit. Some of her red hair had come loose from her helmet and it flew as she ran. Her lithe figure, the speed and control of her movements, her evident courage, astonished Corum. He had never known a woman like this Medhbh—or, indeed, like the other women here who fought with their men and who shared equal duties with them. Such beautiful women, too, thought Corum. And then he cursed himself for his lack of attention, for another beast had come leaping and snapping and howling at him. He whirled his war-axe and shouted his Vadhagh war-cry as he smashed the blade deep into the hound’s skull, between its red, tufted ears. He wished that the fight would end, for he was so weary that he could not believe he could slay another of the dogs.

The baying of those dreadful beasts seemed to grow louder and louder. The stink of their breath made Corum wish for the harshness of the mist in his lungs. And still the white bodies flew through the air and landed upon the battlements; still the great fangs snapped and the yellow eyes blazed; still men died as the jaws ripped flesh, sinew and bone. And Corum leaned against the wall and panted and panted and knew that the next dog to attack him would kill him. He had no intention of resisting. He was finished. He would die here and all problems would be solved in an instant. Caer Mahlod would fall. The Fhoi Myore would rule.

Something made him look down into the street again.

There was Medhbh, standing alone, sword in hand, while a massive hound rushed at her. The rest of her party were all down. Their torn corpses could be seen strewn across the cobbles. Only Medhbh remained, and she would perish soon.

Corum jumped before he even realized he had made up his mind. His booted feet landed squarely on the rump of the great hound, bringing its hind parts to the ground. The war-axe whistled now and crunched through the bone of the huge dog’s vertebrae, almost chopping the beast in two. And Corum, carried forward by his own momentum, fell across the corpse. He slipped in the beast’s blood, struck his skull against its broken spine and fell over onto his back, desperately trying to regain his footing. Even Medhbh did not know what had happened, for she struck at one of the dog’s eyes with her sword, not realizing that the creature was already dead. Then she saw Corum.

She grinned as he got to his feet and began to tug his war-axe from the corpse.

“So you would not see me dead, then, my elfin prince.”

“Lady,” said Corum, gasping for breath, “I would not.”

He freed his axe and staggered back up the steps to the battlements where weary warriors did their best to meet the attacks of seemingly innumerable hounds.

Corum forced himself forward, to help a warrior who was about to go down before one of the dogs. His axe was becoming blunt with all the slaughter and this time his blow only stunned the dog, which recovered almost immediately and turned on him. But a pike took it in the belly, and the worst Corum got was the thing’s thick and ill-smelling blood pouring over his breastplate.

He stumbled away, peering through the mist beyond the walls. And this time he did see a looming shape—a gigantic figure of a man, apparently with antlered horns growing from the sides of its head, its face all misshapen, its body all warped, raising something to its lips, as if to drink.

And then came a sound which made all the hounds stop dead in their tracks and caused the surviving warriors to drop their weapons and cover their ears.

It was a sound full of horror—part laughter, part screaming, part agonized wail, part triumphant shout. It was the sound of the Horn of Kerenos, calling back his hounds.

Corum glimpsed the figure again as it disappeared into the mist. The hounds which remained alive instantly began to drive over the walls and run back down the hill until there was not a single living dog remaining in Caer Mahlod. Then the mist began to lift, rushing back towards the forest as if drawn behind Kerenos like a cloak. Once more the Horn sounded.

Some men were vomiting, so terrible was the sound. Some men screamed, while others sobbed.

Yet it was plain that Kerenos and his pack had had enough sport for that day. They had shown the people of Caer Mahlod a little of their power. It was all they had wanted to do. Corum could almost understand that the Fhoi Myore might see the battle in terms of a friendly passage of arms before the main fight began.

The fight at Caer Mahlod had brought about the deaths of some four and thirty hounds.

Fifty warriors had died, men and women both.

“Quickly, Medhbh, the tathlum !” King Mannach, wounded in the shoulder and bleeding still, cried to his daughter. She had put one of the round balls of brains and lime into her sling and was whirling it.

She let fly into the mist, after Kerenos himself.

King Mannach knew she had not hit the Fhoi Myore.

“The tathlum is one of the few things they believe will kill them,” he said.

Quietly they left the walls of Caer Mahlod and went to mourn their dead.

‘ ‘Tomorrow,” said Corum,’ ‘I will set off upon this quest to find your spear Bryionak for you and bring it to you, clutched in my silver hand. I will do all mat I can to save the folk of Caer Mahlod from the likes of Kerenos and his hounds. I will go.”

King Mannach, aided down the steps by his daughter, merely nodded his head, for he was very faint.

“But first I must go to this place you call Castle Owyn,” said Corum. “That I must do first, before I leave.”

“I will take you there this evening,” said Medhbh.

And Corum did not refuse.