attacked, he would have great difficulty in fleeing any danger and almost as much in maneuvering to face it. But at least the skies remained blue and sharp and clear, and the sun, though giving little heat, was bright. It was the mist which made Corum wary, for he knew that with the mist might come the devil hounds and their masters.
And now he began to discover the shallow valleys of the moors and in the valleys the hamlets, villages and towns where once Mabden folk had lived. And every settlement was deserted.
Corum took to using these deserted places for his night camps. Hesitant to build a fire lest the smoke be seen by enemies or potential enemies, he found that he could bum peat on the flagstones of empty cottages so that the smoke dispersed before it could be detected from even a close distance. Thus he was able to keep both horse and himself warm and cook hot food. Without these comforts his ride would have been miserable indeed.
What saddened him was that the cottages still contained the funuture, ornaments and little trinkets of the folk who had lived in them. There had been no looting, for, Corum imagined, the Fhoi Myore had no interest in Mabden artifacts. But in some of the villages, the most easterly, there were signs that the Hounds of Kerenos had come a-hunting and found no shortage of prey. Doubtless that was why so many had fled and sought safety in the old, unused hill-forts like Caer Mahlod.
Corum could tell that a complex and reasonably sophisticated culture had flourished here—a rich, agricultural people who had had time to develop their artistic gifts. In the abandoned settlements he found books as well as painting, musical instruments as well as elegant metal-work and pottery. It saddened him to see it all. Had his battle against the Sword Rulers been pointless, then? Lwym-an-Esh, which he had fought for as much as he had fought for his own folk, was gone, and what had followed it was now destroyed.
After a while he began to avoid the villages and seek out caves where he would not be reminded of the Mabden tragedy.
But then one morning, after he had been riding for little more than an hour, he came to a broad depression in the moor, in the center of which was a frozen tarn. To the northeast of the tarn he saw what he at first took to be standing stones, all about the height of a man; but there were several hundred, whereas most stone circles were usually made up of hardly more than a score of granite slabs. As with everywhere else on this moor, snow was thick and covered the stones. Corum's path took him to the other side of the tarn, and he was about to avoid the monuments (for such he judged them) when he thought he caught a movement of something black against the universal whiteness. A crow? He shaded his eyes to peer among the stones. No, something larger. A wolf, possibly. If it were a deer, he had need of meat. He drew the cover off his bow and strung it, swinging his lance behind him to give him a clear shot as he fitted an arrow to the string. Then, with his heels, he urged his horse forward.
As he drew closer he began to realize that these standing stones were not typical. The carving on them was much more detailed, so much so that they resembled the finest Vadhagh statuary. And that was what they were—statues of men and women poised as if in battle. Who had made them and for what purpose?
Again Corum saw the movement of a dark shape. Then it was hidden again by the statues. Corum found something familiar about the statues. Had he seen work like them before?
Then he recalled his adventure in Arioch's castle and slowly the truth came. Corum resisted the truth. He did not want to know it.
But now he was close to the nearest of the statues and he could not avoid the evidence.
These were not statues at all.
These were the corpses of folk very much like the tall, fair folk of Tuha-na-Cremm Croich—corpses frozen as they prepared to do
Janette Oke, Laurel Oke Logan