The Chronicles of Corum (24 page)

In silence the three watched Jhary adjust his hat on his head, pick up his cat, bow to them and mount the stairs that would take him to the battlements.

“I feel as if I dream,” said Beldan when Jhary had disappeared.

“You do,” said Corum. “A fresh dream is just beginning. Let us hope we survive it.

The Second Chapter
 The Gathering at Kalenwyr

The little winged cat flew swiftly Eastward through the night and came at last to gloomy Kalenwyr.

The smoke of a thousand guttering brands rose up from Kalenwyr and seemed to smear out the light of the moon. Square blocks of dark granite made up the houses and the castles and nowhere was there a curve or a soft line.

Dominating the rest of the city was the brooding pile of King Lyr-a-Brode and around its black battlements flickered oddly coloured lights and there was a rumbling like thunder, though no clouds filled the night sky.

Towards this pile now flew the little cat, alighting on a tower of harsh angles and folding its wings. It turned its large, yellow eyes this way and that, as if deciding which way it would enter the castle.

The cat’s fur prickled, the long whiskers for which it had been named twitched, the tail went stiff. The cat had become aware not only of sorcery and the presence of supernatural creatures in the castle, but of a particular creature which it hated more than all the rest. Its progress down the side of the tower became even more cautious. It reached a slotted window and squeezed in. It was in a darkened, circular room. An open door revealed steps winding down the inside of the tower. Tensely the cat made its way down the steps.

There were plenty of shadows in which to hide, for Castle Kalenwyr was a shadowy place.

At last the cat saw brand-light burning ahead and it paused, looking warily around the door frame. The brands illuminated a long, narrow passage and at the end of the passage were the sounds of many voices, the clatter of arms and of wine-cups. The cat spread its wings and flew into the shadows of the roof, finding a long, blackened beam down which it could walk. The beam passed through the wall with a little room to spare and the cat squeezed through to find itself looking down at a huge gathering of Mabden. It walked further along the beam and then settled itself to watch the proceedings.

In the centre of Castle Kalenwyr’s Great Hall was a dais carved from a single block of unpolished obsidian and upon this dais was a throne of granite studded with quartz. Some attempt had been made to carve gargoyles upon the stone, but the workmanship was crude and unfinished. Nonetheless, the half-shapes carved there were more sinister than if they had been fully realized.

Seated upon this throne were three people. On each asymmetrical arm sat a naked girl, with flesh tattooed in obscene designs. Each girl held a jug with which she replenished the wine cup of the man who sat on the throne itself.

This man was big - more than seven feet tall - and a crown of pale iron was upon his matted hair. The hair was long, with short plaits clustered over the forehead. It had been yellow but was now streaked with white and it seemed that some attempt had been made to dye these streaks back to their original colour. The beard, too, was yellow and flecked with areas of stained grey.

The face was haggard, covered in broken veins, and from the deep eye sockets peered eyes that were bloodshot, faded blue, full of hatred, cunning and suspicion. Robes clothed the body from neck to foot. These were plainly of Vadhagh origin - brocades and

samite now covered in the marks of food and wine. Over them was thrown a dirty coat of tawny wolfskin - just as plainly made by the Mabden of the East, whom the man ruled. The hands were encrusted with stolen rings torn from the fingers of slain Vadhagh and Nhadragh. One of the hands rested upon the pommel of a great, battered iron sword. The other clutched a bronze, diamond-studded goblet from which slopped thick wine. Surrounding the dais, their backs to their master, was a guard of warriors each as tall or taller than the man on the throne. They stood rigidly shoulder to shoulder, swords drawn and placed across the rims of their great oval shields of leather and iron sheathed in brass. Their brass helms covered most of their faces and from the sides escaped the hair of their heads and beards. Their eyes seemed to contain a perpetual and controlled fury and they looked steadily into the middle distance. This was the Asper guard - the Grim Guard which was unthinkingly loyal to the man who sat upon the throne.

King Lyr-a-Brode turned his massive head and surveyed his court.

Warriors filled it.

The only women were the tattooed, naked wenches who served the wine. Their hair was dirty, their bodies bruised and they moved like dead things with their heavy wine jugs balanced on their hips, squeezing themselves in and out of the ranks of the big, brutal Mabden men in their barbaric war gear, with their braided hair and beards.

These men stank of sweat and of the blood they had spilled. Their leather clothes creaked as they raised winecups to their hard mouths, their harness rattled.

A feast had recently taken place here, but now the tables and the benches had been cleared away and, save for the few who had collapsed and been dragged into corners, all the warriors were standing, watching their king and waiting for him to speak.

The light from iron braziers suspended from the roofbeams flung their huge shadows on the dark stone and made their eyes shine red like the eyes of beasts.

Each warrior in the hall was a commander of other warriors. Here were Earls and Dukes and Counts and Captains who had ridden from all parts of Lyr’s kingdom to attend this Gathering. And some, dressed a little differently from the others, favouring fur to the stolen Vadhagh and Nhadragh samite - had come from across the sea as emissaries from Bron-an-Mabden, the rocky land of the North-West from which the whole Mabden race had originated long ago.

Now King Lyr-a-Brode placed his hands on the arms of his throne and levered himself slowly to his feet. Instantly five hundred arms raised goblets in a toast.

“LYR OF THE LAND!”

Automatically he returned the toast, mumbling, “And the Land is Lyr...” He looked around him, almost disbelievingly, staring for a long second at one of the girls as if he recognized her for something other than she was. He frowned.

A burly noble with grey, unhealthy eyes, a red, shiny face, his thick black hair and beard curled and braided, a cruel mouth which was partly closed over yellow fangs, stepped from the throng and positioned himself just the other side of the Grim Guard. This noble wore a tall, winged helmet of iron, brass and gold, a huge bearskin cloak on his shoulders. There was a sense of authority about him and, in many ways, he had more presence than did the tall king who looked down on him.

The king’s lips moved. “Earl Glandyth-a-Krae?”

“My liege, I hight Glandyth, Earl over the estates of Krae,” the man assured him formally. “Captain of the Denledhyssi who have scoured your land free of the Vadhagh vermin and all who allied themselves with them, who helped conquer the Nhadragh Isles. And I am a Brother of the Dog, a Son of the Horned Bear, a servant of the Lords of Chaos!”

King Lyr nodded. “I know thee, Glandyth. A loyal sword.”

Glandyth bowed.

There was a pause.

Then, “Speak,” said the king.

“There is one of the Shefanhow creatures who escapes your justice, my king.

Just one Vadhagh who still lives.” Glandyth tugged the thong of his jerkin which showed over the top of his breastplate. He reached inside and brought out two things which hung by a string around his neck. One of the things was a withered,

mummified hand. The other was a small leather pouch. He displayed them. “This is the hand I took from the Vadhagh and here, in this sack, is his eye. He took refuge in the castle which lies at the far Western shore of your land -

the castle called Moidel. A Mabden woman possessed that castle - she is the Margravine Rhalina-a-Allomglyl and she serves that land of traitors, Lywm-an-Esh - that land which you now plan to crush because it refuses to support our cause.”

“All this you have told me,” King Lyr replied. “And you have told me of the monstrous sorcery used to thwart your attack upon that castle. Speak on.”

“I would march again to Castle Moidel, for I have learnt that the Shefanhow Corum and the traitress Rhalina have returned there, thinking themselves safe from your Justice.”

“All our armies go Westward,” Lyr told him. “All our strength is aimed at the destruction of Lywm-an-Esh. Castle Moidel will fall in our passing.”

“The boon I beg is that I be the instrument of that fall, my liege.”

“You are one of our greatest captains, Earl Glandyth, we would use you and your Denledhyssi in a main engagement.”

“While Corum lives, commanding sorcery, our cause is much threatened. I speak truly, great king. He is a powerful enemy - perhaps more powerful than the whole land of Lywm-an-Esh. It will take much to destroy him.”

“One maimed Shefanhow? How is this so?”

“He has made an alliance with Law. I have proof. One of my Nhadragh lackeys has used its second sight and seen clear.

“Where is the Nhadragh.”

“He is without, my liege. I would not bring the vile creature into your hall without your permission.”

“Bring him now.”

All the bearded warriors stared towards the door with a mixture of disgust and curiosity. Only the Grim Guard did not turn its gaze. King Lyr reseated himself on his throne and gestured with his cup for more wine.

The doors were opened and a dim shape was revealed. Though it had the outline of a man it was not a man. The ranks broke as it began to shuffle forward.

It had dark, flat features and the hair of its head grew down its forehead to meet at a peak just below the eyebrows. It was dressed in a jacket and breeks of sealskin. Its stance was servile, nervous and it bowed frequently as it moved towards the waiting Glandyth. King Lyr-a-Brode’s lips curled in nausea.

He gestured at Glandyth. “Make this thing speak and then make it leave.”

Glandyth reached out and seized the Nhadragh by his coarse hair. “Now, filth, tell my king what you saw with your degenerate senses!”

The Nhadragh opened its mouth and stuttered.

“Speak! Quickly!”

“I - I saw into other planes than this.”

“You saw into Yffarn - into hell?” King Lyr murmured in horror.

“Into other planes...” The Nhadragh looked shiftily about him and agreed hastily. “Aye, then - into Yffarn. I saw a creature there which I cannot describe, but I spoke with it for a brief time. It - told me that Lord Arioch of Chaos...”

“He means the Sword Ruler,” Glandyth explained. “He means Arag the Great Old God.”

“It told me that Arioch - Arag - had been slain by Corum Jhaelen-Irsei of the Vadhagh and that Lord Arkyn of Law now ruled these five planes again...” The Nhadragh’s voice trailed off.

“Tell my king the rest,” Glandyth said fiercely, tugging again on the wretch’s hair. “Tell him what you learned relating to we Mabden!”

“I was told that now Lord Arkyn has returned he will attempt to regain all the power he once had over the world. But he needs mortals as his agents and of these agents Corum is the most important - but it is certain that most of the folk of Lywm-an-Esh will serve Arkyn, too, for they learned the ways of the - the Shefanhow - long since...”

“So all our suspicions were correct,” King Lyr said in quiet triumph. “We do well to ready for war against Lywm-an-Esh. We fight against that soft degeneration misnamed as Law!”

“And you would agree that it is my duty to destroy this Corum?” Glandyth asked.

The king frowned. Then he raised his head and looked directly at Glandyth.

“Aye.” He waved his hand. “Now take that stinking Shefanhow from this hall.

It is time to summon The Dog and The Bear!”

High on the central roof beam the little cat felt its fur stiffen. It was inclined to leave the hall there and then, but made itself stay. It was loyal to its master and Jhary-a-Conel had told it to witness all that passed during Lyr’s Gathering.

Now the warriors had packed themselves around the walls. The women had been dismissed. Lyr himself left his throne and the whole centre of the hall was now barren of men.

A silence fell.

Lyr clapped his hands from where he stood, still surrounded by his Grim Guard.

The doors of the hall opened and prisoners were brought in. There were young children and women and some men of the peasant class. All were comely and all were terrified. They were wheeled into the hall in a great wicker cage and some of the children were wailing. The imprisoned adults made no attempt to comfort the children any longer, but clutched at the wicker bars and stared hopelessly out into the hall.

“Aha!” King Lyr cried. “Here is the Food of the Dog and the Bear. Tender food! Tasty food!” He relished their misery. He stepped forward and the Grim Guard stepped forward too. He licked his lips as he inspected the prisoners.

“Let the food be cooked,” he commanded, “so that the smell will reach into Yffarn and whet the appetites of the gods and draw them to us.”

One of the women began to scream and some of them fainted. Two of the young men bowed their heads and wept and the children looked out of their cage uncomprehendingly, merely frightened by the fact of their imprisonment, not of the fate which was to come.

Ropes were passed through loops at the top of the cage and men hauled on the ropes so that the entire contraption was raised towards the roof beams.

The little cat shifted its position, but continued to observe.

A huge brazier was wheeled in next and placed directly below the cage. The cage rocked and swayed as the prisoners struggled. The eyes of the watching warriors glowed in anticipation. The brazier was full of white hot coals and now servants came with jars of oil and flung it upon the coals so that flames suddenly roared high into the air and licked around the wicker cage. A horrid ululation came from the cage then, - a dreadful, incoherent noise which filled the hall.

And King Lyr-a-Brode began to laugh.