see that Goffanon was deliberately ignoring the import of Ilbrec's glance.
"We sea-warriors have passed the island before, of course, but since it is often surrounded by mist and there are hidden rocks at various points off its coast, we have never actually landed there. We have never had the necessity to do so."
"Though some have been thought shipwrecked there in the past and never found," added the eager youth Kawanh. "There are superstitions about the place—that it is inhabited by Shef anhow and such ..." His voice trailed off.
"Is it sometimes called Ynys Scaith, this place?" asked Ilbrec, still thoughtful.
‘ ‘I have heard it called that, aye,'' Artek agreed.' 'It is an old, old name for the place."
"So you have been to Shadow Island." Ilbrec shook his fair head, half amused. "Fate draws at more threads than we guessed, eh, Goffanon?"
But Goffanon pretended that he had not heard Ilbrec, though later Corum saw him offer his fellow Sidhi a secret, warning glance.
"Aye and that is where we saw Prince Corum here—or his double—" blurted Kawanh, then stopped. "I apologise, Prince Corum," he said. "I had not meant . . ."
Corum smiled. "Perhaps it was my shadow you saw. After all, the place is called Ynys Scaith—the Isle of Shadows. An evil shadow, however." His smile faded on his face.
' 'I have heard of Ynys Scaith.'' Until this moment Amergin had said nothing beyond a formal greeting to Artek and his men. "A place of dark sorcery where evil druids would go to work their magic. A place shunned even by the Sidhi ..." And now it was Amergin's turn to look meaningfully at both Ilbrec and Goffanon, and Corum guessed that the wise Archdruid had also noticed the exchange of glances between the two Sidhi. "Ynys Scaith, so I was taught as a novice, existed even before the corning of the Sidhi. It shares certain properties with the Sidhi isle of Hy-Breasail, but is in other ways unlike that place. Where Hy-Breasail was supposed to be a land of fair enchantments, Ynys Scaith was said to be an island of black madness ..."
"Aye," growled Goffanon. "It is, to say the least, inhospitable to Sidhi and Mabden alike."
"You have been there, Goffanon?" Amergin asked gently.
But Goffanon had become wary again. "Once," he said.
"Black madness and red despair," put in Artek. "When we landed there we found ourselves unable to return to our ships. Disgusting forests grew up in our path. Mists engulfed us. Demons attacked us. All kinds of misshapen beasts lurked in wait for us. They destroyed all our children. They slew all our women and most of our menfolk. We are the only ones, of the whole race of Fyean, who survived—and that by luck, stumbling accidentally upon one of our ships and sailing directly for your shores.'' Artek shuddered. "Even if I knew my wife was still alive and trapped upon Ynys Scaith I would not return." Artek clenched his two hands together. "I could not."
"She is dead," said Kawanh gently. He was comforting his leader. "I saw it happen."
"How could we be sure that what we saw was in any way reality!" Artek's eyes filled with agony.
"No," said Kawanh. "She is dead, Artek."
"Aye," Artek's hands parted. His shoulders slumped. "She is dead."
"Now you know why I would have no part of your idea," murmured Goffanon to Ilbrec.
Corum looked away from the still shaking Artek of Clonghar. He looked at the two Sidhi. "Is that where you thought we should find allies, Ilbrec?"
Ilbrec motioned with his hand, dismissing his own idea. "It was."
"Nothing but evil comes from Ynys Scaith," Goffanon said. "Only evil, no matter how disguised."
' 'I had not realized ..." Amergin reached out and touched Artek upon the shoulder. "Artek, I will give you a potion that will make you sleep and will ensure that you will not dream. In the morning you will be a man again."
The sun was setting over the camp. Ilbrec and Corum walked toward the Sidhi's blue tent. From a score of cooking fires came the mingled smells of a
"We sea-warriors have passed the island before, of course, but since it is often surrounded by mist and there are hidden rocks at various points off its coast, we have never actually landed there. We have never had the necessity to do so."
"Though some have been thought shipwrecked there in the past and never found," added the eager youth Kawanh. "There are superstitions about the place—that it is inhabited by Shef anhow and such ..." His voice trailed off.
"Is it sometimes called Ynys Scaith, this place?" asked Ilbrec, still thoughtful.
‘ ‘I have heard it called that, aye,'' Artek agreed.' 'It is an old, old name for the place."
"So you have been to Shadow Island." Ilbrec shook his fair head, half amused. "Fate draws at more threads than we guessed, eh, Goffanon?"
But Goffanon pretended that he had not heard Ilbrec, though later Corum saw him offer his fellow Sidhi a secret, warning glance.
"Aye and that is where we saw Prince Corum here—or his double—" blurted Kawanh, then stopped. "I apologise, Prince Corum," he said. "I had not meant . . ."
Corum smiled. "Perhaps it was my shadow you saw. After all, the place is called Ynys Scaith—the Isle of Shadows. An evil shadow, however." His smile faded on his face.
' 'I have heard of Ynys Scaith.'' Until this moment Amergin had said nothing beyond a formal greeting to Artek and his men. "A place of dark sorcery where evil druids would go to work their magic. A place shunned even by the Sidhi ..." And now it was Amergin's turn to look meaningfully at both Ilbrec and Goffanon, and Corum guessed that the wise Archdruid had also noticed the exchange of glances between the two Sidhi. "Ynys Scaith, so I was taught as a novice, existed even before the corning of the Sidhi. It shares certain properties with the Sidhi isle of Hy-Breasail, but is in other ways unlike that place. Where Hy-Breasail was supposed to be a land of fair enchantments, Ynys Scaith was said to be an island of black madness ..."
"Aye," growled Goffanon. "It is, to say the least, inhospitable to Sidhi and Mabden alike."
"You have been there, Goffanon?" Amergin asked gently.
But Goffanon had become wary again. "Once," he said.
"Black madness and red despair," put in Artek. "When we landed there we found ourselves unable to return to our ships. Disgusting forests grew up in our path. Mists engulfed us. Demons attacked us. All kinds of misshapen beasts lurked in wait for us. They destroyed all our children. They slew all our women and most of our menfolk. We are the only ones, of the whole race of Fyean, who survived—and that by luck, stumbling accidentally upon one of our ships and sailing directly for your shores.'' Artek shuddered. "Even if I knew my wife was still alive and trapped upon Ynys Scaith I would not return." Artek clenched his two hands together. "I could not."
"She is dead," said Kawanh gently. He was comforting his leader. "I saw it happen."
"How could we be sure that what we saw was in any way reality!" Artek's eyes filled with agony.
"No," said Kawanh. "She is dead, Artek."
"Aye," Artek's hands parted. His shoulders slumped. "She is dead."
"Now you know why I would have no part of your idea," murmured Goffanon to Ilbrec.
Corum looked away from the still shaking Artek of Clonghar. He looked at the two Sidhi. "Is that where you thought we should find allies, Ilbrec?"
Ilbrec motioned with his hand, dismissing his own idea. "It was."
"Nothing but evil comes from Ynys Scaith," Goffanon said. "Only evil, no matter how disguised."
' 'I had not realized ..." Amergin reached out and touched Artek upon the shoulder. "Artek, I will give you a potion that will make you sleep and will ensure that you will not dream. In the morning you will be a man again."
The sun was setting over the camp. Ilbrec and Corum walked toward the Sidhi's blue tent. From a score of cooking fires came the mingled smells of a
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