"Greetings," she said. "I am Rhalina. Who are you, sir?"
"I am Corum Jhaelen Irsei," he replied. Her beauty was not that of a Vadhagh, but it affected him nonetheless. "The Prince in the-"
"-Scarlet Robe?" She was plainly amused. "I speak the old Vadhagh tongue as well as the common speech. You are misnamed, Prince Corum. I see no robe. In fact, I see no…"
Corum turned away. "Do not mock me, Mabden. I am resolved to suffer no further at the hands of your kind."
She moved nearer. "Forgive me. Those who did this to you are not our kind, though they be of the same race. Have you never heard of Lywm-an-Esh?"
His brow furrowed. The name of the land was familiar, but meant nothing.
"Lywm-an-Esh," she continued, "is the name of the country whence my people come. That people is an ancient one and has lived in Lywm-an-Esh since well before the Great Battles of the Vadhagh and the Khadragh shook the Five Planes…"
"You know of the Five Planes?"
"We once had seers who could look into them. Though their skills never matched those of the Old Folk-your folk."
"How do you know so much of the Vadhagh?”
"Though the sense of curiosity atrophied in the Vadhagh many centuries ago, ours did not," she said. "From time to time Nhadragh ships were wrecked on our shores and, though the Nhadragh themselves vanished away, books and tapestries and other artifacts were left behind. We learned to read those books and interpret those tapestries. In those days, we had many scholars.”
"And now?"
"Now, I do not know. We receive little news from the mainland."
"What? And it so close?"
"Not that mainland, Prince Corum," said she with a nod in the direction of the shore. She pointed out to sea. "That mainland-Lywm-an-Esh-or, more specifically, the Duchy of Bedwilral-nan-Rywm, on whose borders this Margravate once lay."
Prince Corum watched the sea as it foamed on the rocks at the base of the island. "What ignorance was ours," he mused, "when we thought we had so much wisdom."
"Why should such a race as the Vadhagh be interested in the affairs of a Mabden land?" she said. "Our history was brief and without color compared with yours."
"But why a Margrave here?" he continued. "What do you defend your land against?"
"Other Mabden, Prince Corum."
"Glandyth and his kind?"
"I know of no Glandyth. I speak of the Pony Tribes. They occupy the forests of yonder coast. Barbarians, they have ever represented a threat to Lywm-an-Esh. The Margravate was made as a bastion between those tribes and our land."
"Is the sea not a sufficient bastion?"
"The sea was not here when the Margravate was established. Once this castle stood in a forest and the sea lay miles away to the north and the south. But then the sea began to eat our land away. Every year it devours more of our cliffs. Towns, villages, and castles have vanished in the space of weeks. The people of the mainland retreat ever further back into the interior.”
"And you are left behind? Has not this castle ceased to fulfill its function? Why do you not leave and join your folk?"
She smiled and shrugged, walking to the battlements and leaning out to watch the seabirds gather on the rocks. "This is my home," she said. "This is where my memories are. The Margrave left so many mementos. I could not leave."
"The Margrave?"
"Earl Moidel of Allomglyl. My husband."
"Ah." Corum felt a strange twinge of disappointment.
The Margravine Rhalina continued to stare out to sea. "He is dead," she said. "Killed in a shipwreck. He took our last ship and set off for the mainland seeking news of the fate of our folk. A storm blew up shortly after he had gone. The ship was barely seaworthy. It sank."
Corum said nothing.
As if the Margravine's words had reminded it of its temper, the wind suddenly blew stronger, pluckiag at her gown and making it swirl about her body. She turned to look at him. It was a long, thoughtful stare.
"And now, Prince," she said. "Will you be my guest?"
"Tell me one more thing, Lady Rhalina. How did you know of my coming? Why did the Brown Man bring me here?"
"He brought you at the behest of his master."
"And his master?"
"Told me to expect you and let you rest here until your mind and your body were healed. I was more than willing to agree. We have no visitors, normally-and certainly none of the Vadhagh race."
"But who is that strange being, the Brown Man's master? I saw him only briefly. I could not distinguish his shape too well, though I knew he was twice my size and had a face of infinite sadness."
"That is he. He comes to the castle at night, bringing sick domestic animals that have escaped our stables at some time or another. We think he is a being from another plane, or perhaps another Age, before even the Age of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh. We cannot pronounce his name, so we call him simply the Giant of Laahr."
Corum smiled for the first time. "Now I understand better. To him, perhaps, I was another sick beast. This is where he always brings sick beasts."
"You could be right, Prince Corum." She indicated the doorway. "And if you are sick, we should be happy to help you mend…"
A shadow passed over Corum's face as he followed her inside. "I fear that nothing can mend my sickness now, Lady. It is a disease of the Mabden and there are no cures known to the Vadhagh."
"Well," she said with forced lightness, "perhaps we Mabden can devise something."
Bitterness filled him then. As they descended the steps into the main part of the castle he held up his stump and touched his eyeless socket "But can the Mabden give me back my hand and my eye?"
She turned and paused on the steps. She gave him an oddly candid look. "Who knows?" she said quietly. "Perhaps they can."
The Ninth Chapter
CONCERNING LOVE AND HATRED
Although doubtless magnificent by Mabden standards, the Margravine's castle struck Prince Corum as simple and pleasant. At her invitation, he allowed himself to be bathed and oiled by castle servants and was offered a selection of clothing to wear. He chose a samite shirt of dark blue, embroidered in a design of light blue, and a pair of brown linen breeks. The clothes fitted him well.
"They were the Margrave's," a girl servant told him shyly, not looking at him directly.
None of the servants had seemed at ease with him. He guessed that his appearance was repellent to them.
Reminded of this, he asked the girl, "Would you bring me a mirror?"
"Aye, Lord." She ducked her head and left the chamber.
But it was the Margravine herself who returned with the mirror. She did not hand it to him immediately.
"Have you not seen your face since it was injured?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"You were handsome?"
"I do not know."
She looked at him frankly. "Yes," she said. "You were handsome." Then she gave him the mirror.
The face he saw was framed by the same light golden hair, but it was no longer youthful. Fear and agony had left their marks. The face was lined and hard and the set of the mouth grim. One eye of gold and purple stared bleakly back at him. The other socket was an ugly hole made up of red, scarred tissue. There was a small scar on his left cheek and another on his neck. The face was still characteristically a Vadhagh face, but it had suffered abuse never suffered by a Vadhagh before. From the face of an angel it had been transformed by Glandyth's knives and irons into the face of a demon.
Silently, Corum gave her back the mirror.