again in the possession of this mysterious Sidhi, the Smith Goffanon.”
“And do you know where this smith dwells?”
“He is thought to dwell in a place now called Hy-Breasail, a mysterious island of enchantment lying south of our eastern shores. Our druids believe that Hy-Breasail is all that remains of Lwym-an-Esh.”
“But the Fhoi Myore rule there, do they not?” “They avoid the island. I know not why.” ? ‘The danger must be great if they deserted a land that was once theirs.”
“My thinking also,” King Mannach agreed. “But was the danger only apparent to the Fhoi Myore? No Mabden has ever returned from Hy-Breasail. The Sidhi are said to be blood relations to the Vadhagh. Of the same stock, many say. Perhaps only a Vadhagh could go to Hy-Breasail and return?”
Corum laughed aloud. “Perhaps. Very well, King Mannach, I will go there and look for your magical spear.”
“You could go to your death.”
“Death is not what I fear, King.”
Soberly, King Mannach nodded. “Aye. I believe I understand you, Prince Corum. There is much more to fear than death in these dark days of ours.”
The flames of the brands were burning low, guttering. The merry-making was now subdued. A single harpist played a soulful tune and sang a song of doomed lovers which Corum, in his drunkenness, identified with his own story, that of himself and Rhalina. And it seemed to him, in the half-light, that the girl who had spoken to him earlier looked much like Rhalina. He stared at her as, unconscious of his gaze, she talked and laughed with one of the young warriors. And he began to hope. He hoped that somewhere in this world Rhalina had been reincarnated, that he would find her somewhere and, though she would not know him, she would fall in love with him as she had done before.
The girl turned her head and saw that he stared. She smiled at him, bowing slightly.
He raised his wine-cup, shouting somewhat wildly as he got to his feet. ‘ ‘Sing on, bard, for I drink to my lost love Rhalina. And I pray that I shall find her in this grim world.”
And then he lowered his head, feeling that he had become foolish. The girl, seen properly, looked very little like Rhalina. But her eyes remained fixed on his single one as he sank back into his seat and, again, he stared at her with curiosity.
‘ ‘I see you find my daughter worthy of your attention, Lord of the Mound,” came King Mannach’s voice from beside Corum. The king spoke a little sardonically.
“Your daughter?”
“She is called Medhbh. Is she fair?”
“She is fair. She is fine, King Mannach.”
“She is my consort, since her mother was killed in our first fight with the Fhoi Myore. She is my right hand, my wisdom. A great battle-leader is Medhbh and our finest shot with battle-snare and the sling and tathlum.”
“What is the tathlum?”
“A hard ball, made from the ground up brains and bones of our enemies. The Fhoi Myore fear it. That is why we use it. The brains and bones are mixed with lime and the lime sets hard. It seems an effective weapon against the invaders—and few weapons are effective, for their magic is strong.”
Corum said softly, as he sipped still more mead,’ ‘Before I set off to find your spear for you, I should like very much to see the nature of our enemies.”
King Mannach smiled. “It is a request we can easily grant, for two of the Fhoi Myore and their hunting packs have been seen not far from here. Our scouts believe that they head towards Caer Mahlod to attack our fort. They should be here by tomorrow’s sunset.”
“You expect to beat them? You seem unconcerned.” ‘ ‘We shall not beat them. Attacks such as this are, we think, more in the nature of a diversion for the Fhoi Myore. On some occasions they have succeeded in destroying one of our forts, but mainly they do this simply to unnerve us.”
“Then you will let me guest here until tomorrow’s sunset?”
“Aye. If you promise to flee and seek
“And do you know where this smith dwells?”
“He is thought to dwell in a place now called Hy-Breasail, a mysterious island of enchantment lying south of our eastern shores. Our druids believe that Hy-Breasail is all that remains of Lwym-an-Esh.”
“But the Fhoi Myore rule there, do they not?” “They avoid the island. I know not why.” ? ‘The danger must be great if they deserted a land that was once theirs.”
“My thinking also,” King Mannach agreed. “But was the danger only apparent to the Fhoi Myore? No Mabden has ever returned from Hy-Breasail. The Sidhi are said to be blood relations to the Vadhagh. Of the same stock, many say. Perhaps only a Vadhagh could go to Hy-Breasail and return?”
Corum laughed aloud. “Perhaps. Very well, King Mannach, I will go there and look for your magical spear.”
“You could go to your death.”
“Death is not what I fear, King.”
Soberly, King Mannach nodded. “Aye. I believe I understand you, Prince Corum. There is much more to fear than death in these dark days of ours.”
The flames of the brands were burning low, guttering. The merry-making was now subdued. A single harpist played a soulful tune and sang a song of doomed lovers which Corum, in his drunkenness, identified with his own story, that of himself and Rhalina. And it seemed to him, in the half-light, that the girl who had spoken to him earlier looked much like Rhalina. He stared at her as, unconscious of his gaze, she talked and laughed with one of the young warriors. And he began to hope. He hoped that somewhere in this world Rhalina had been reincarnated, that he would find her somewhere and, though she would not know him, she would fall in love with him as she had done before.
The girl turned her head and saw that he stared. She smiled at him, bowing slightly.
He raised his wine-cup, shouting somewhat wildly as he got to his feet. ‘ ‘Sing on, bard, for I drink to my lost love Rhalina. And I pray that I shall find her in this grim world.”
And then he lowered his head, feeling that he had become foolish. The girl, seen properly, looked very little like Rhalina. But her eyes remained fixed on his single one as he sank back into his seat and, again, he stared at her with curiosity.
‘ ‘I see you find my daughter worthy of your attention, Lord of the Mound,” came King Mannach’s voice from beside Corum. The king spoke a little sardonically.
“Your daughter?”
“She is called Medhbh. Is she fair?”
“She is fair. She is fine, King Mannach.”
“She is my consort, since her mother was killed in our first fight with the Fhoi Myore. She is my right hand, my wisdom. A great battle-leader is Medhbh and our finest shot with battle-snare and the sling and tathlum.”
“What is the tathlum?”
“A hard ball, made from the ground up brains and bones of our enemies. The Fhoi Myore fear it. That is why we use it. The brains and bones are mixed with lime and the lime sets hard. It seems an effective weapon against the invaders—and few weapons are effective, for their magic is strong.”
Corum said softly, as he sipped still more mead,’ ‘Before I set off to find your spear for you, I should like very much to see the nature of our enemies.”
King Mannach smiled. “It is a request we can easily grant, for two of the Fhoi Myore and their hunting packs have been seen not far from here. Our scouts believe that they head towards Caer Mahlod to attack our fort. They should be here by tomorrow’s sunset.”
“You expect to beat them? You seem unconcerned.” ‘ ‘We shall not beat them. Attacks such as this are, we think, more in the nature of a diversion for the Fhoi Myore. On some occasions they have succeeded in destroying one of our forts, but mainly they do this simply to unnerve us.”
“Then you will let me guest here until tomorrow’s sunset?”
“Aye. If you promise to flee and seek
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