He smiled at his own foolishness and settled himself more comfortably against the tree. In another three days he would be at Castle Crachah, where his aunt the Princess Lorim lived. He watched as his horse folded its legs and lay down beneath the trees to sleep, and he wrapped his scarlet coat about him, raised the hood, and slept also.
The Third Chapter
THE MABDEN HERD
Toward the middle of the following morning Prince Corum was awakened by sounds that somehow did not fit the forest. His horse had heard them too, for it was up and sniffing at the air, showing small signs of agitation.
Corum frowned and went to the cool water of the river to wash his face and hands. He paused, listening again. A thump. A rattle. A clank. He thought he heard a voice shouting further down the valley and he peered in that direction and thought he saw something moving.
Corum strode back to where he had left his gear and he picked up his helmet, settling it on his head, fixed his sword's scabbard to his belt, looped the axe onto his back. Then he began to saddle the horse as it drank from the river.
The sounds were stronger now and, for some reason, Corum felt disquiet touch his mind. He mounted his horse but continued to watch.
Up the valley came a tide of beasts and vehicles. Some of the creatures were clothed in iron, fur, and leather. Corum guessed that this was a Mabden herd. From the little he had read of Mabden habits, he knew the breed to be for the most part a migratory species, constantly on the move; as it exhausted one area it would move on, seeking fresh game and wild crops. He was surprised to note how much like Vadhagh arms and armor were the swords, shields, and helmets worn by some of the Mabden.
Closer they came and still Corum observed them with intense curiosity, as he would study any unusual beast he had not previously seen.
This was a large group, riding in barbarically decorated chariots of timber and beaten bronze, drawn by shaggy horses with harness of leather painted in dull reds, yellows, and blues. Behind the chariots came wagons, some open and some with awnings. Perhaps these carried females, Corum thought, for there were no females to be seen elsewhere.
The Mabden had thick, dirty beards, long sweeping moustaches, and matted hair flowing out from under their helmets. As they moved, they yelled at each other and passed wineskins from hand to hand. Astonished, Corum recognized the language as the common tongue of the Vadhagh and the Nhadragh, though much corrupted and harshened. So the Mabden had learned a sophisticated form of speech.
Again came the unaccountable sense of disquiet. Corum backed his horse into the shadows of the trees, continuing to watch.
And now he could see why so many of the helmets and weapons were familiar.
They were Vadhagh helmets and Vadhagh weapons.
Corum frowned. Had these been looted from some old abandoned Vadhagh castle? Were they gifts? Or had they been stolen?
The Mabden also bore arms and armor of their own crude manufacture, obviously copies of Vadhagh workmanship, as well as a few Nhadragh artifacts. A few had clothes of stolen samite and linen, but for the most part they wore wolfskin cloaks, bearskin hoods, sealskin jerkins and breeks, sheepskin jackets, goatskin caps, rabbitskin kilts, pigskin boots, shirts of deerskin or wool. Some had chain of gold, bronze, and iron hanging round their necks or wound about their anas or legs, or even woven into their filthy hair.
Now, as Corum watched, they began to pass him. He stifled a cough as their smell reached his nose. Many were so drunk they were almost falling out of their chariots. The heavy wheels rumbled and the hooves of the horses plodded on. Corum saw that the wagons did not contain females, but booty. Much of it was Vadhagh treasure, there was no mistaking it.
The evidence was impossible to interpret in any other way. This was a party of warriors-a raiding party or a looting party, Corum could not be sure. But he found it hard to accept that these creatures had lately done battle with Vadhagh warriors and won.
Now the last chariots of the caravan began to pass and Corum saw that a few Mabden walked behind, tied to the chariots by ropes attached to their hands. These Mabden bore no weapons and were hardly clothed at alL They were thin, their feet were bare and bleeding, they moaned and cried out from time to time. Often the response of the charioteer to whose chariot they were attached would be to curse or laugh and tug at the ropes to make them stumble.
One did stumble and fall and desperately tried to regain his feet as he was dragged along, Corum was horrified. Why did the Mabden treat their own species in such a way? Even the Nhadragh, who were counted more cruel than the Vadhagh, had not caused such pain to their Vadhagh prisoners in the old days.
"These are peculiar brutes, in truth," mused Corum, half-aloud.
One of the Mabden at the head of the caravan called out loudly and brought his chariot to a halt beside the river. The other chariots and wagons began to stop. Corum saw that they intended to make camp here.
Fascinated, he continued to observe them, stock still on his horse, hidden by the trees.
The Mabden removed the yokes from the horses and led them to the water. From the wagons they took cooking pots and poles and began to build fires.
By sunset they were eating, though their prisoners, still tied to the chariots, were given nothing.
When they were done with eating, they began to drink again and soon more than half the herd was insensible, sprawled on the grass and sleeping where they fell. Others were rolling about on the ground engaged in mock fights, many of which increased in savagery so that knives and axes were drawn and some blood spilled.
The Mabden who had originally called for the caravan to stop roared at the fighting men and began to stagger amongst them, a wineskin clutched in one hand, kicking them and plainly ordering them to stop. Two refused to heed him and he drew the huge bronze war-axe from his belt and smashed it down on the skull of the nearest man, splitting his helmet and his head. A silence came to the camp and Corum, with an effort, made out the words the leader spoke:
"By the Dog! I'll have no more squabbling of this sort. Why spend your energies on each other. There is sport to be had yonder!" He pointed with his axe to the prisoners, who were now sleeping.
A few of the Mabden laughed and nodded and rose up, moving through the faint light of the evening to where their prisoners lay. They kicked them awake, cut the ropes attached to the chariots, and forced them toward the main encampment, where the warriors who had not succumbed to the wine were arranging themselves in a circle. The prisoners were pushed into the center of this circle and stood there staring in terror at the warriors.
The leader stepped into the circle and confronted the prisoners.
“When we took you with us from your village I promised you that we Denledhyssi hated only one thing more than we hated Shefanhow. Do you remember what that was?"
One of the prisoners mumbled, staring at the ground. The Mabden leader moved quickly, pushing the head of his axe under the man's chin and lifting it up.
"Aye, you have learned your lesson well, Mend. Say it again."
The prisoner's tongue was thick in his mouth. His broken lips moved again and he turned his eyes to the darkening skies and tears fell down his cheeks and he yelled in a wild, cracked voice, "Those who lick Shefanhow urine!"
And a great groan shuddered from him and then he screamed.
The Mabden leader smiled, drew back bis axe, and rammed the haft into the man's stomach so that the scream was cut short and he doubled over in agony.
Corum had never witnessed such cruelty and his frown deepened as he saw the Mabden begin to tie down their prisoners, staking them out on the ground and bringing brands and knives to their limbs, burning and cutting them so that they did not die but writhed in pain.