either with the Fhoi Myore or their slaves because of their primitive mentalities, it also means that they are slow to recognize a deception. Come." Corum urged his horse down the hill toward that sad city, the once-great city of Caer Llud.
Leaving the relatively clean air for the mist of Caer Llud was like going from midsummer into midwinter. If Corum and Jhary-a-Conel had considered themselves cold, it was now as nothing to the totality of coldness in which they now found themselves. The mist seemed virtually sentient, eating into their flesh, their bones and their vitals so that they were hard-put not to cry out and reveal their ordinary humanity. For Gaynor the Damned, for the Ghoolegh, the living dead, for the Brothers of the Pines like Hew Argech whom Corum had once fought, such cold doubtless meant little. But for mortals of the conventional mold it meant a great deal. Corum, gasping, shuddering, wondered if they could hope to live through it. With set faces they rode on, avoiding the worst of the mist as best they could, seeking the great tower by the river where they hoped Amergin was still imprisoned.
They said nothing as they rode, fearing to reveal their identities, for it was impossible to know who or what lurked on either side of them in the mist. The movement of their horses became sluggish, plodding, as the dreadful mist affected them. At last Corum bent over and spoke close to Jhary's head, finding speech painful as he said:
"There is a house just to the left of us which seems empty. See. The door is open. Ride directly through." And he turned his own horse into the doorway and entered a narrow passage already occupied by an old woman and a girl child who were huddled together, frozen and dead.
He dismounted and led his horse into a room off the passage. The room appeared untouched by looters. Mold grew on food on the table which had been set for some ten people. A few spears stood in a corner and there were shields and swords against the wall. The men of the house had gone to fight the Fhoi Myore and had not returned for the meal. The old woman and the girl had died beneath the influence of Balahr's frightful eye. Doubtless they would find the corpses of others—old and young—who had not joined the hopeless battle against the Fhoi Myore when they had first come to Caer Llud. Corum desperately wished to light a fire, to warm his aching bones, to drive the mist from his body, but he knew that this would be risking too much. The living dead did not need fires to warm them and neither did the People of the Pines. As Jhary-a-Conel led his own horse into the room, drawing a shuddering winged black and white cat from within his jerkin, Corum whispered: "There will be clothing upstairs, perhaps blankets. I will see." The small black and white cat was already climbing back inside Jhary's jacket, mewling a complaint.
Corum cautiously climbed a wooden staircase and found himself on a narrow landing. As he had guessed, there were others here— two very old men and three babies. The old men had died trying to give their bodyheat to the children.
Corum entered a room and found a large cupboard full of blankets stiff with cold. But they were not frozen through. He dragged out as many as he could carry and took them back down the stairs. Jhary seized them gratefully and began to drape them around his shoulders.
Corum was unwrapping something from his waist. It was the nondescript mantle, the gift of King Fiachadh, the Sidhi Cloak.
Their plan was already made. Jhary-a-Conel would wait here with the horses while Corum sought Amergin. Corum unfolded the mantle, wondering again as it hid his hands from his own sight. This was the first Jhary had seen of the Cloak and he gasped as, huddling in a mound of blankets, he saw what it did.
Then Corum paused.
From the street outside there came sounds. Cautiously he went to the shuttered windows and peered through a crack. Through the clinging mist he saw shapes
Leaving the relatively clean air for the mist of Caer Llud was like going from midsummer into midwinter. If Corum and Jhary-a-Conel had considered themselves cold, it was now as nothing to the totality of coldness in which they now found themselves. The mist seemed virtually sentient, eating into their flesh, their bones and their vitals so that they were hard-put not to cry out and reveal their ordinary humanity. For Gaynor the Damned, for the Ghoolegh, the living dead, for the Brothers of the Pines like Hew Argech whom Corum had once fought, such cold doubtless meant little. But for mortals of the conventional mold it meant a great deal. Corum, gasping, shuddering, wondered if they could hope to live through it. With set faces they rode on, avoiding the worst of the mist as best they could, seeking the great tower by the river where they hoped Amergin was still imprisoned.
They said nothing as they rode, fearing to reveal their identities, for it was impossible to know who or what lurked on either side of them in the mist. The movement of their horses became sluggish, plodding, as the dreadful mist affected them. At last Corum bent over and spoke close to Jhary's head, finding speech painful as he said:
"There is a house just to the left of us which seems empty. See. The door is open. Ride directly through." And he turned his own horse into the doorway and entered a narrow passage already occupied by an old woman and a girl child who were huddled together, frozen and dead.
He dismounted and led his horse into a room off the passage. The room appeared untouched by looters. Mold grew on food on the table which had been set for some ten people. A few spears stood in a corner and there were shields and swords against the wall. The men of the house had gone to fight the Fhoi Myore and had not returned for the meal. The old woman and the girl had died beneath the influence of Balahr's frightful eye. Doubtless they would find the corpses of others—old and young—who had not joined the hopeless battle against the Fhoi Myore when they had first come to Caer Llud. Corum desperately wished to light a fire, to warm his aching bones, to drive the mist from his body, but he knew that this would be risking too much. The living dead did not need fires to warm them and neither did the People of the Pines. As Jhary-a-Conel led his own horse into the room, drawing a shuddering winged black and white cat from within his jerkin, Corum whispered: "There will be clothing upstairs, perhaps blankets. I will see." The small black and white cat was already climbing back inside Jhary's jacket, mewling a complaint.
Corum cautiously climbed a wooden staircase and found himself on a narrow landing. As he had guessed, there were others here— two very old men and three babies. The old men had died trying to give their bodyheat to the children.
Corum entered a room and found a large cupboard full of blankets stiff with cold. But they were not frozen through. He dragged out as many as he could carry and took them back down the stairs. Jhary seized them gratefully and began to drape them around his shoulders.
Corum was unwrapping something from his waist. It was the nondescript mantle, the gift of King Fiachadh, the Sidhi Cloak.
Their plan was already made. Jhary-a-Conel would wait here with the horses while Corum sought Amergin. Corum unfolded the mantle, wondering again as it hid his hands from his own sight. This was the first Jhary had seen of the Cloak and he gasped as, huddling in a mound of blankets, he saw what it did.
Then Corum paused.
From the street outside there came sounds. Cautiously he went to the shuttered windows and peered through a crack. Through the clinging mist he saw shapes
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