Chronicles of Corum by Michael Moorcock Read Free Book Online Page A

tall as the Vadhagh himself. Corum reined his horse before this man and he dismounted. They stared at each other for some moments. Then Corum spoke distantly:
    “My head is empty,” he said. “You must fill it.”
    The man stared thoughtfully, at the ground and then raised his head, saying:
    “I am Mannach, a king.” He smiled faintly. “A wizard, I, of sorts. Druid, some call me, though I’ve few of the druids’ skills—or much of their wisdom. But I am the best we have now, for we have forgotten most of the old lore. Which is perhaps why we are now in this predicament.” He added, almost with embarrassment, “We had no need of it, we thought, until the Fhoi My ore came back.” He looked curiously at Corum’s face as if he disbelieved in the power of his own invocation.
    Corum had decided almost at once that he liked this King Mannach. Corum approved of the man’s skepticism (if that was what it was). Plainly the invocation had been weak because Mannach and probably the others had only half-believed in it.
    “You summoned me when all else failed?” said Corum.
    ‘ ‘Aye. The Fhoi My ore beat us in battle after battle, for they do not fight as we fight. At last we had nothing left but our legends.” Mannach hesitated and then admitted: ‘‘I did not believe much in those legends before now.”
    Corum smiled. “Perhaps there was no truth in them before now.”
    Mannach frowned. ‘ ‘You speak more like a man than a god—or even a great hero. I mean no disrespect.”
    “It is other folk who make gods and heroes of men like myself, my friend.” Corum looked around at the rest of the gathering. “You must tell me what you expect of me, for I have no mystic powers.”
    It was Mannach who smiled now. “Perhaps you had none before.”
    Corum raised his silver hand.’ ‘This? It is of earthly manufacture. With the right skills and knowledge any man might make one.”
    “You have gifts,” said King Mannach. “The gifts of your race, your experience, your wisdom—aye, and your skills, Lord of the Mound. The legends say that you fought mighty gods before the Dawn of the World.”
    “I fought gods.”
    “Well, we have great need of a fighter of gods. These Fhoi My ore are gods. They conquer our land. They steal our Holy things. They capture our people. Even now our High King is their prisoner. Our Great Places fall to them—Caer Llud and Craig Don among them. They divide our land and so separate our folk. Separated, it becomes harder for us to join in battle against the Fhoi Myore.”
    “They must be numerous, these Fhoi My ore,” said Corum. “There are seven.”
    Corum said nothing, allowing the astonishment he was unable to hide to serve in place of words.
    “Seven,” said King Mannach. “Come with us now, Corum of the Mound, to our fort at Caer Mahlod, there to take meat and mead with us while we tell you why we called for you.”
    And Corum remounted his horse and allowed the people to lead it through the frost-rimed oak wood and up a hill which overlooked the sea upon which a moon cast a leprous light. Stone walls rose high around the crown of the hill and there was only one small gate, really a tunnel, which went down then up again, through which a visitor could pass in order to enter the city. These stones were white, too. It was as if the whole world were frozen and all its scenery carved from ice.
    Within, the city of Caer Mahlod reminded Corum of the stone cities of Lyr-a-Brode, though some attempts had been made to finish the granite of the houses’ walls, paint scenes upon the walls and carve gables. Much more fortress than town, the place had a gloomy aspect Corum could not equate with the people who had summoned him.
    “These are old forts,” King Mannach explained. “We were driven from our great cities and forced to find homes here, where our ancestors were said to dwell. They are strong, at least, settlements like Caer Mahlod, and during the day it is possible to see many