The Oak and the Ram - 04 Read online

  And King Fiachadh said in a deep, serious voice: "You are the last I have visited, old friend." He looked hard at King Mannach.

  "I knew already what you would say. I fear I knew, too, what the others would say."

  "Say?” King Mannach frowned.

  "To my proposal."

  "You have been visiting other kings?" said Corum. "All the other kings whose folk are still free?"

  King Fiachadh nodded his great red head. "All. I see that it is imperative we unite. Our only defense against the Fhoi Myore can be our unity. First I went to the land south of my own—to the folk called Tuha-na-Ana. Secondly I sailed north where dwell, among others, the Tuha-na-Tir-nam-Beo. A mountain people and fierce. Thirdly I sailed down the coast and guested with King Daffynn of the Tuha-na-Gwyddneu Garanhir. Fourthly I came to the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich. Three kings are cautious, thinking that to attract the attention of the Fhoi Myore will mean instant destruction to their lands. What does the fourth king say?"

  "What does King Fiachadh ask?" said Medhbh reasonably.

  "That all those who remain—four great peoples as far as I know—unite. We have some treasures which the power of the Sidhi could put to use in our favor. We have great warriors. We have your example of defeating them. We should carry the attack to Craig Don or Caer Llud, wherever the six remaining Fhoi Myore dwell. A large army. The remains of the free Mabden. What say you, King?''

  "I say that I would agree," said Mannach. "Who would not?"

  "Three kings would not. Each king thinks himself safer by staying in his own land and saying nothing, doing nothing. And all three kings are afraid. They say that with Amergin in the hands of the Fhoi Myore there is no point in fighting. The elected High King is not dead, so a new one cannot be made. The Fhoi Myore knew this when they spared Amergin's life ..."

  "It is not like your folk to let superstition bind them," said Corum softly. "Why do you not change this law and make a new High King?"

  "It is not superstition," said King Mannach without offense. ' Tor one thing all the kings must meet to elect the new High King and I gather some are afraid to leave their own domains lest those lands be attacked in their absence or lest they are attacked while in other lands. An election of a High King takes many months. All the people must be consulted. All must hear the candidates, speak with them if they wish. Can we break such a law? If we do break our ancient laws, are our customs worth fighting for?"

  Medhbh said: "Make Corum your War Leader. Unify the kingdoms under him."

  ' 'That suggestion has been made,'' said King Fiachadh.' 'I made it. None would hear of it. Most of us have no reason to trust gods. Gods have betrayed us in the past. We prefer to have no part of them."

  "I am not a god," said Corum reasonably.

  "You are modest," said King Fiachadh firmly, "but you are a god. A demigod at very least.'' He stroked his red beard. ' 'That is what I think. And I have met you. Imagine, then, what those kings who do not know you think. They have heard the tales by now and those tales must have been greatly magnified by the time of reaching their ears. For instance, I thought to meet a being at least twelve feet high!" King Fiachadh smiled, for he was taller than Corum. "No, the only thing which would unite our folk would be the release of Amergin and the restoration of his full senses."

  "What has become of Amergin?" Corum asked. He had never heard the details of the High King's fate, for the Tuha-na-Cremm Croich were reluctant to discuss them.

  "He is under a glamour," said King Fiachadh soberly.

  "An enchantment? What is its nature?"

  ' 'We are not sure," said King Mannach. He continued reluctantly: ' 'Amergin is said to think of himself now as an animal. Some say he believes he is a goat, others a sheep, others a pig . . ."

  "You see how clever are those who serve the Fhoi Myore?" Medhbh said. "They keep our Archdruid alive but destroy his dignity."

  "And a gloom settles over all those who remain free," King Fiachadh put in. "That has much to do with why our fellow kings will not fight, Mannach. They have no soul for it with Amergin crawling on all fours and eating grass."

  "Do not continue," said King Mannach raising his hand. His old, strong face showed much grief. "Our own High King symbolizes all our pride ..."

  "Do not confuse the symbol with the reality, however," said Corum. "Much pride remains amongst the Mabden race."

  "Aye," said Medhbh. "It is true."

  ' 'Nonetheless,'' said King Fiachadh,' 'our people will only unite under an Amergin free from enchantment. Amergin was so wise. Such a great man was Amergin.'' And a tear came into his blue eye. He turned his head away from them.

  ‘ 'Then Amergin must be rescued," said Corum flatly. "Should I find your king for you and bring him to the West?'' He did not speak impetuously. From the beginning he had considered this. ‘'Disguised, I might reach Caer Llud."

  And when Fiachadh looked back he was not crying. He was grinning. “And I have the disguise," he said.

  Corum laughed aloud. He had been considering a decision, plainly, which King Fiachadh had also been considering—perhaps for much longer.

  ‘ ‘ You are a Sidhi..." began the king of the Tuha~na-Manannan.

  "Related to them," said Corum, "as I discovered upon my last quest. We have looks in Corumon and, I suppose, certain powers. I fail to understand, though, why I should possess such powers—"

  "Because all believe," said Medhbh simply, and she leaned towards him and touched his arm. The touch was like a kiss. He smiled tenderly at her.

  "Very well," he said. ‘'Because all believe. However, you may call me 'Sidhi' if it suits you, King Fiachadh."

  "Then, Sir Sidhi, know this. In the land of the Distant West, the land of my folk, the Tuha-na-Manannan, came a year since a visitor. His name was Onragh—"

  "Onragh of Caer Llud!" gasped King Mannach. "In whose keeping ..."

  "... Were the Treasures of Llud, the Sidhi Gifts? Aye. And Onragh lost them all from his chariot as he fled the Fhoi Myore and their vassals. Because the Hounds of Kerenos followed, he could not go back. So he lost them—all save one. And that Treasure he brought across the water to the Distant West, to the land of gentle mists and rain. And Onragh of Caer Llud was dying from his wounds which were of great variety. Half of one hand had been gnawed by the Hounds. An ear had been severed by a Ghoolegh flencher. Several knives had found his offal. Dying, he presented into my safekeeping the only Treasure he had saved, though it had not saved him. He could not use it. Only a Sidhi can use it, though I do not understand why, save that it was originally a Sidhi gift, like most of Caer Llud's Treasures, and must have worked for us once. And Onragh, doomed to die believing that he had failed our race, brought news of Amergin the High King. At that time Amergin was still in the great tower which stands by the river close to the center of Caer Llud. This tower has always been the home of the High King. But Amergin was already under the glamour which makes him believe himself a beast. And he was guarded by many Fhoi Myore vassals—some of whom came with the Fhoi Myore from their own Realm and others, the half-dead like the Ghoolegh, drawn from slain or captured Mabden. But guarded right well, my friends, if Onragh is to be believed. And not all the guards have human shape, I heard. But that is doubtless where Amergin is."

  ‘ 'I will need an excellent disguise," mused Corum, who privately felt he was doomed to fail in this quest, but who also felt that he must attempt it if only to show his respect for these people.

  ' 'I hope I can suggest one," said King Fiachadh, and his massive bulk began to rise as he stood up.' 'Is my chest where I asked it to be put, brother?"

  King Mannach also rose, smoothing back his white hair. Corum remembered that not long since his hair had also had red in it. But that was before the Fhoi Myore had come. And King Mannach's beard was almost white now, too. Still he was a handsome man, standing almost as tall as broad-shouldered Fiachadh, the gold collar of his kingship around his firm throat. King Mannach pointed to a corner behind their seats. "There," he said.
"There is the chest."

  And King Fiachadh went to the corner and picked up the heavy chest by its golden handles and, carrying the chest to the table, with a grunt he put it down. Then from a pouch at his waist he took some keys and unlocked five strong locks. Then he paused, his piercing blue eyes staring at Corum. And he said something mysterious: "You are not a traitor, Corum, now."

  "I am not," said Corum. "Not now."

  "I trust a reformed traitor more than I trust myself," said King Fiachadh, grinning cheerfully as he opened the lid. But he opened the chest in such a way that Corum could not see the contents.

  King Fiachadh reached into the chest and carefully began to draw something out. "There," he said. "The last of the Treasures of Caer Llud."

  And Corum wondered if the King of the Tuha-na-Manannan were still joking, for King Fiachadh was displaying in both hands a rather tattered robe; a robe such as the poorest of peasants might be too fastidious to wear. A robe which was so patched, torn, and faded that it was impossible to tell the original color.

  Holding it almost gingerly and yet tenderly, as if in awe of the old robe, King Fiachadh offered it to Corum.

  "This is your disguise," said King Fiachadh.

  THE THIRD CHAPTER

  CORUM ACCEPTS A GIFT

  "Did some hero wear it once?" Corum asked. It was the only explanation for the reverence with which King Fiachadh handled the tattered robe.

  "Aye, a hero has worn it, according to our legends, during the first fights with the Fhoi Myore." King Fiachadh seemed puzzled by Corum's question. "It is often called just 'The Mantle,' but sometimes it is called Arianrod's Cloak—so that strictly speaking it is a heroine's mantle, for Arianrod was a female Sidhi, of great fame and much loved by the Mabden."

  "And so you treasure it," said Corum. "And well you might. . ."

  Medhbh was laughing, for she knew what he thought. "You come close to condescending to us, Sir Silverhand," she said. "Do you think King Fiachadh a fool?" "Far from it, but ..."

  "If you knew our legends you would understand the power of that much-worn mantle. Arianrod used it for many great feats before she herself was slain by some Fhoi Myore during the last great battle between the Sidhi and the Cold Folk. Some say she slew a whole army of Fhoi Myore singlehanded while wearing that cloak."

  "It makes the wearer invulnerable?"

  ' 'Not exactly,'' said King Fiachadh, still proffering the mantle to Corum. "Will you accept it, Prince Corum?"

  "Gladly will I accept a gift from your hand, King Fiachadh," said Corum, remembering his manners, and he reached out and took the cloak gently, in his fleshly hand and his hand of gleaming silver.

  And both hands vanished at the wrists so that it seemed he was again crippled, though this time twice-crippled. Yet he could feel his fleshly hand and feel the texture of the cloth with his fingers, for all that the mantle had made his hands disappear.

  "It does work, then/' said King Fiachadh in tones of great satisfaction. ‘ 'I am glad you accepted it with hesitation, Sir Sidhi. ‘'

  Corum began to understand. He drew his fleshly hand away from under the cloak and there was his hand again!

  "A mantle of invisibility?"

  ' 'Aye,'' said Medhbh in awe.' 'The same mantle used by Gyfech to enter the bedchamber of Ben while her father slept across the door. That mantle was much prized, even amongst the Sidhi."

  Corum said: "I believe I know how it must work. It comes from another plane. Just as Hy-Breasail is part of another world, so is this mantle. It shifts the wearer into another plane, just as the Vadhagh could once move from plane to plane and remain aware of activities on different planes ..."

  They knew not of what he spoke, but they were too delighted to question him. He laughed. ' 'Brought from the Sidhi plane, it has no true existence here. Yet why will it not work for Mabden?"

  ' 'It will not always work for Sidhi,' ‘ said King Fiachadh.' 'There are some—Mabden or others—possessed of a sixth sense which makes them aware of you even when you are invisible to all others. Very few possess this sixth sense so that you may wear the mantle without detection most of the time. However, someone whose sixth sense is well-developed will see you just as I see you now."

  "And this is the disguise I must use to go to the Tower of the High King?" Corum said, handling the cloak with care and equally as much reverence as had King Fiachadh, marveling as its folds hid first one portion and then another of his anatomy.' 'Yes, it is a good disguise." He smiled. "There is none better." He handed the mantle back to the King. "Best keep it safely in its chest until it is needed."

  And when the chest was locked with all five keys, Corum sank back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "Now," he said, "there is much to be planned."

  So it was late before Corum and Medhbh lay together, in their wide, low bed, looking out through the windows at the summer moon.

  "It was prophesied," said Medhbh sleepily, "that Cremm Croich should go upon three quests, face three great dangers, make three strong friendships ..."

  "Prophesied where?"

  "In the old legends."

  "You have not mentioned this before."

  "There seemed no point. Legends are vague. You are not what the legends led us to expect, after all." She smiled quietly.

  He returned her smile. "Well, then, I begin the second quest tomorrow."

  "And you will be gone long from my side," said Medhbh.

  "That is my fate, I fear. I came for duty, not for love, sweet Medhbh. The love must be enjoyed while it does not interfere with duty."

  "You could be killed could you not? For all you are an elfin lord?"

  "Aye, killed by sword, or poison. I could even fall from my horse and break my neck!"

  "Do not mock my fears, Corum."

  "I am sorry." He rose on one elbow and looked into her lovely eyes. He bent and kissed her lips. "I am sorry, Medhbh."

  He rode a red horse, such as he had ridden when he first came to Cremmsmound. Its coat shone in the early morning sunshine. From beyond the walls of Caer Mahlod came the sound of bird song.

  He wore all his ceremonial fighting gear, the ancient gear of the Vadhagh. He wore a shirt of blue samite and his breeks were doeskin. He wore a peaked, conical silver helm with his runic name set into it (the runes were indecipherable to the Mabden) and he wore his byrnie, a layer of silver upon a layer of brass. He wore all save his Scarlet Robe, his Name-robe, for that he had traded to the Wizard Calatin at the place he knew as Moidel’s Mount. Upon the horse was a mantle of yellow velvet and harness and saddle were of crimson leather with designs picked out in white.

  For weapons Corum took a lance, an axe, a sword and a dirk. The lance was tall, its shaft strengthened with gleaming brass, its head of polished iron. The axe was double-headed, plain and long-hafted, also bound with bands of brass. The sword hung in a scabbard matching the horse's harness and its hilt was dressed in leather, bound with fine gold and silver wire, with a heavy round pommel of bronze. The dirk had been made by the same craftsman and matched the sword.

  ‘ ‘ Who could mistake you for anything but a demigod,'' said King Fiachadh approvingly.

  Prince Corum made a small smile and clutched his reins in his silver hand. He reached with his other hand to adjust the plain war-board which hung behind his saddle over one of the panniers containing as well as his provisions a tightly rolled fur cape which he would need as he advanced into Fhoi Myore lands. The other cape, the Sidhi Cloak, that of Arianrod, he had rolled and wrapped about his waist. Tucked into this were the gauntlets he would wear later, to protect one hand from the cold and to disguise the other so that he would not be easily recognized by any enemy.

  Medhbh tossed back her long red hair and came forward to kiss his fleshly hand, looking up at him with eyes that were both proud and troubled. "Have care with your life, Corum," she murmured. "Preserve it if you can, for all of us will need you even when this quest is over."

  "I shall not throw my life away," he promised
. "Life has become good for me, Medhbh. But neither do I fear death at this moment." He wiped sweat from his forehead. All his gear made him hot beneath the sun which was already blazing down, but he knew he would not be warmed for long. He adjusted the embroidered eye-patch over the blind socket. He touched her gently upon her brown arm. "I shall come back to you," he promised.

  King Mannach folded his arms across his chest and cleared his throat. "Bring Amergin to us, Prince Corum. Bring our High King with you."

  "Only if Amergin is with me will I come back to Caer Mahlod. And if I cannot bring him, then I will make every effort to send him to you, King Mannach."

  "This is a great quest, this quest," said King Mannach. "Farewell, Corum."

  "Farewell, Corum," said Fiachadh the red-bearded, putting a large strong hand upon the Vadhagh's knee. "Good luck in this."

  "Farewell, Corum," said Medhbh, and her voice was now as steady as her gaze.

  Then Corum kicked at the flanks of his red horse and he went from them.

  It was with a calm mind that Corum rode from Caer Mahlod, across the gentle hills, into the deep, cool forest, going East to Caer Llud, listening to the birds, the rush of the little shining streams over old rocks, the whisper of the oaks and the elms.

  Not once did Corum look back; not once did he feel a pang of regret, nor grieve or know fear or reluctance concerning his quest, for he knew that he fulfilled his destiny and that he represented a great ideal. He was, at that moment, content.

  Such contentment was rare, thought Corum, for one destined to take part in the eternal struggle. Perhaps because he did not fight against his destiny this time; because he accepted his duty, he was rewarded with this peculiar peace of mind. He began to wonder if he would find peace only by accepting his fate. It would be a strange paradox—tranquility attained in strife.