Jhary came in and he, too, was dressed for traveling, though he disdained armor, wearing a quilted leather jerkin, stamped with designs in gold and platinum, in lieu of a breastplate-his only concession. His wide-brimmed hat was placed at a jaunty angle on his head, his long hair was brushed so that it shone and fell over his shoulders. He wore flamboyant silks and satins, elaborately decorated boots trimmed with red and white lace, and was the very picture of effete dandyism. Only the soldier's sword at his belt denied the impression. On his shoulder was the small black-and-white winged cat, which was his constant companion. In his hand he held a bottle with a thin neck. A brownish liquid swirled inside.
"It is made." He spoke slowly, as if in a trance. "And it has the desired effect, I think. It has driven away my fury, though I feel drowsy. Some of the drowsiness should wear off. I hope it does."
Corum looked at him suspiciously. "It might counter the fury-but we shall be slow to defend ourselves if attacked. It slows the wits, Jhary!"
"It offers a different perspective, I grant you." Jhary smiled a dreamy smile. "But it's our only chance, Corum. And, speaking for myself, I would rather die in peace than in mental anguish."
"I'll grant you that." Corum accepted the bottle, "How much shall I take?"
"It is strong. Just a little on the tip of the forefinger."
Corum tilted the bottle and got a small amount of the potion on his finger. Cautiously, he licked it. He gave Jhary back the bottle. "I feel no different. Perhaps it does not work on the Vadhagh metabolism."
"Perhaps. Now you must give some to Rhalina…"
"And the servants."
"Aye-fair enough-the servants…"
They stood in the courtyard brushing the last of the snow off the canopy covering the sky ship, peeling back the cloth to reveal the rich blues, greens, and yellows of the metallic hull. Jhary clambered slowly in and began to pass his hands over the variously colored crystals on the panel in the prow. This was not as large a sky ship as the first they had encountered. This one was open to the elements when not utilizing the protective power of its invisible energy screen. A whisper of sound came from the ship and it lifted an inch off the ground. Corum helped Rhalina in and then he, too, was aboard, lying on one of the couches and watching Jhary as he prepared the craft for flight.
Jhary moved slowly, a slight smile on his face. Corum, full of a sense of well-being, watched him. He looked over to the couch where Rhalina had placed herself and he saw that she was almost asleep. The potion was working well in that the sense of fury had disappeared. But part of Corum still knew that his present euphoria might be as dangerous as his earlier rage. He knew that he had exchanged one madness for another, in some senses.
He hoped that another sky ship would not attack them, as Bwydyth's had been attacked, for, apart from their present disability, they were all unfamiliar with the art of aerial warfare. It was the best Jhary could do to pilot the sky ship in the desired direction.
At last the craft lifted gently into the cold, gray air, turning west and moving along the coast toward Lywm-an-Esh.
And as the ship drifted on its way Corum looked down at the world, all bleak and frozen, and wondered if spring would ever come again to Bro-an-Vadhagh.
He opened his lips to speak to Jhary, but the dandy was absorbed with the controls. He watched as, suddenly, the little black-and-white cat sprang from Jhary's shoulder, clung for a moment to the side of the sky ship, and then flew off over the land, to disappear behind a line of hills.
For a moment Corum wondered why the cat had deserted them, but then he forgot about it as he once again became interested in the sea and the landscape below.
The Fourth Chapter
A NEW ALLY FOR EARL GLANDYTH
The little cat flew steadily through the day, changing its direction constantly as if it followed an invisible and winding path through the sky. Soon it had ceased to fly inland, hesitated, then headed out over the cliffs and over the sea, which it hated. Islands came in sight.
They were the Nhadragh Isles where lived the remainder of the folk who had become groveling slaves of the Mabden in order to preserve their lives. Though presently released from that slavery, they had become so degenerate that their race might still die from apathy, for most could not even hate the Vadhagh now.
The cat was searching for something, following a psychic rather than a physical scent; a scent which only he could distinguish.
Once before had the little winged cat followed a similar scent, when he had gone to Kalenwyr to witness the great massing of Mabden and the summoning of their now banished gods the Dog and the Horned Bear. This time, however, the cat was acting upon its own impulses: it had not been sent to the Nhadragh Isles by Jhary-a-Conel, its master.
In what was almost the exact center of the group of green islands was the largest of them, called Maliful by the Nhadragh. Like all the islands it contained many ruins-ruins of towns, ruins of castles, ruins of villages. Some were ruins thanks to the passage of time, but others were ruins thanks to the passage of Mabden armies when they had attacked the Nhadragh Isles at the height of King Lyr-a-Brode's power. It had been Earl Glandyth and his Denledhyssi chariot warriors who had led these expeditions, just as, later, he had led expeditions to the Vadhagh castles and destroyed what was left of the Vadhagh race, save Corum-or so he had thought. The destruction of the two elder races-the Shefanhow as Glandyth called them-had taken a matter of a few years. They had been completely unprepared for Mabden attack, had not been able to believe in the power of creatures scarcely more intelligent or cultured than other beasts. So they had died.
And only a few Nhadragh had been spared-used like dogs to hunt down their fellows, to search for their ancient Vadhagh enemies, to see into other dimensions and tell their masters what they perceived. These had been the least brave of their race-those who preferred degenerate slavery to death.
The little cat saw some of their camps amongst the ruins of the towns. They had been returned here after the Battle of Halwyg, when their Mabden masters had been defeated. They had made no attempt to rebuild their castles or cities, but lived like primitives, many of them unaware that the ruins had once been buildings created by their own kind. They were dressed in iron and fur, after the manner of the Nhadragh. They had dark, flat features and the hair of their heads grew down to meet bushy eyebrows sprouting above deep sockets. They were thickset people, heavily muscled and strong. Once they had been as powerful and as civilized as the Vadhagh but the Vadhagh decline had not come so swiftly as theirs.
Now the broken towers of Os, once the capital of Maliful and the whole of the Nhadragh lands, came in sight. Os the Beautiful the city had been called by its inhabitants, but it was beautiful no longer. Broken walls were festooned with weeds, towers were stretched upon the ground, houses gave shelter to rats and weasels and other vermin, but not to Nhadragh.
The cat continued to follow the psychic scent. It circled over a squat building which was still intact. Upon the flat-roof of the building a dome had been built. The dome was transparent and it glowed. Within two figures could be seen, black against the yellow light. One figure was burly, armored, and the other was shorter, dressed in furs, but wider than its companion. Muffled voices came from within the dome. The cat landed on the roof, stalked toward the dome, flattened its little head against the transparent material and, its eyes wide, watched and listened.
Glandyth-a-Krae frowned as he peered over Ertil's shoulder into the billowing smoke and the boiling liquid below. "Does the spell continue to work, Ertil?"